


Home for Christmas

by Lady3jane



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Christmas, Duty, F/M, Falling In Love, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady3jane/pseuds/Lady3jane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little Christmas present for you all...a chapter a day from now until New Year. It's about home and family and Christmas. It was inspired by my being told that Sansa/Jon was a growing ship, the Winterfell of my imagination and, of course, my love of writing smutty Fanfic. Hope you enjoy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my friend Shannon who drove me on to write this when I should really be concentrating on other things and my Fanfic friend Brazilian Guy whose insight and gentlemanly advice are so valuable that I cannot put a price upon them. Cheers guys!

“You need to leave me, or I can’t go.”

“Jus’ go bitch.”

“I can’t.” Arya folded her arms across her chest and looked him in the eye, defying him to take her back to the control room. 

He had a battered old Kalashnikov cradled in his arms and sandals on his feet that were too big and didn’t even match. Funny how you still noticed mundane stuff like that when you could be dead at any moment. He was just a dirt poor village boy. High on God knows what, but a boy all the same. She supposed there would be no end of boys eager to risk their lives for a share in the million pound ransoms these pirates demanded, and sometimes got, from western governments and oil companies. She almost felt sympathy for the Rat Boy (she’d taken to calling him that in her head). This might be his way of getting a better life for himself, but when it came down to it, she knew but he’d kill her, kill them all with no hesitation and he’d do it whether a ransom was paid or not.

“If you don’t leave, I’m just gonna piss myself and it’s gonna stink in this heat. Up to you.” She shrugged, a bead of sweat trickling down her back.

As she hoped, he relented and, cursing in Pidgin English, closed the door to the ladies toilet behind him with a slam.

Once she was in the cubicle, she thumbed the lock and lent her forehead against the cool metal. This was the first time she had been alone in the last hellish twelve hours; the first time she had any respite from the ceaseless, drugged-up threats of the pirates and the constant snivelling from some of her co-works. Who would have thought Greyjoy would have proved to be such a coward? He had hardly stopped intoning “We’re all gonna die,” under his breath since the fucking Pirates had taken over the rig. Maybe they were, but she didn’t need reminding of it every five seconds.

She didn’t know how long she had, so she’d better actually pee before Rat Boy came back. If it all went down, she didn’t want to be pissing herself and the next couple of hours were critical. If someone was going to attempt a rescue, she knew it would be soon. Twelve hours in, the Pirates were beginning to relax, getting tired, hadn’t yet organised themselves into sleeping shifts. If it wasn’t soon, it would be weeks or months of waiting while the oil company or their Governments negotiated. Or not. She didn’t fancy her chances if this went on for even another day. 

It had taken the Pirates all of ten minutes to discover they had one woman amongst the eleven Europeans they’d captured. They’d taken Needle off her then. The feel of three pairs of eager hands on her as they searched her still made her shudder. She’d get the first lot that tried to rape her of course, but they’d be wary after that and she had counted at least sixteen of them - most of them high on drugs from what she had seen. Only their lack of firm leadership had stopped them attempting it already. Sure, there was a leader somewhere, but he was safe, at the other end of their walkie-talkies and none of the rest of them had been able to decide if they would get away with raping a woman they hadn’t expected to find. Their indecision wouldn’t last forever. No way would she survive weeks of captivity with that lot. 

She had half a dozen fully formed plans in her head already; every one of which ended in her death, but if she was going down, she would be taking as many of the fuckers with her as she could.

She said a silent prayer for a rescue and blew out a resigned breath, pushing herself off the cubicle door. 

Someone up there obviously liked her, as she immediately heard a loud “Psst” from above her head. She looked up and straight into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. The rest of his face was covered, leaving just a pair of eyes suspended above her in the air conditioning duct.

“Christ, am I glad to see you,” she whispered.

“You were expecting me?” He grinned, straight white teeth appearing in the blackness. She was reminded of The Cheshire Cat from Alice and Wonderland; only eyes and a smile hanging in the air. 

“Praying for anyone,” she snorted. “Who are you?”

She hoped she already knew. That wasn’t an American accent and if he was from mainland European, his English was damned good. 

“SAS, but we’ll need to finish the introductions later Arya.”

It was her turn to grin. A wave of relief washed over her. He knew her name. Jon was doing his damndest to make sure she got out of this alive.

“You’re our ‘in’ Arya. I’ve been hanging here waiting on you. We hoped they’d let you go pee sometime. Now listen…”

She nodded, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She’d never listened to anyone as intently in her life.

“You’ve got twenty minutes from the time you step back out there. Twenty minutes before we come in through the roof. I’m told you know the drill; concussion grenades, smoke, confusion, always take the kill shot…”

She nodded again. Jon had explained how they did it plenty of times. She’d grown up hearing about it from Jon, from her Father, from Robb. This was her chance to make it all count. Make them proud.

“You warn whoever you can trust to keep quiet. Don’t risk alerting the targets. You get the hostages down if you can when the time comes, but I’ve been told to say this to you – no heroics. You keep yourself safe first and foremost and that’s an order.” His voice was deep, calm but demanding.

She smiled. Jon again. She could just imagine him saying the same thing. God willing, he’d get the chance to lecture her again soon.

“And I’ve to give you this…”

A large, bare hand appeared from the blackness, presenting a handgun to her, grip first. She recognised it immediately as a SIG P232, their go-to weapon for a concealed carry. As she reached up to take it from his outstretched hand, their fingers touched for the briefest moment, yet it was long enough to send a jolt of electricity shooting through her. She actually wondered if he’d given her an electric shock as her eyes shot up to his. His were unwavering, betraying nothing. She must have imagined it. As her every nerve was now stretched tight with anticipation, every sense heightened for the imminent attack, perhaps it wasn’t surprising.

“You got somewhere you can hide that?”

“Sure.” She unzipped her orange boiler suit down to the waist, checked the safety was on and then pushed the pistol into her bra. It was held tightly between her breasts by thick, black lace. It was invariable too hot to wear anything else under their boiler suits and fancy underwear was Arya’s one concession to femininity. She didn’t bother to zip it up before she looked up into those blue eyes again, 

“I’ve still got to pee.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Don’t look.”

“Sure.” The blue eyes and the white teeth abruptly disappeared. If hadn’t heard him breathing, she would have sworn the vent was empty.

She shrugged her shoulders out of the suit, pushed it and her panties down to her knees and sat on the toilet. Now was not the time to be a prude. Nevertheless, the noise of her pee tinkling into the toilet, shattering the silence, made her cringe with embarrassment. Thank God it wasn’t more than a pee she needed. She still had to bite her bottom lip to stop from giggling as the tinkling went on and on and on – it had been eighteen hours since she had last peed after all. This would have been funny if it wasn’t so awful. She might be dead in twenty minutes and she was worrying about some random guy hearing her pee. She groaned and rolled her eyes skyward, mortified, only to find his blue eyes open again and watching her.

“Fuck off!” she hissed as angrily and as loudly as she dared.

The blue was instantly gone again, but she would have sworn she saw the pink edges of his mouth tugging up in a grin. 

“Perv,” she muttered as she stood up. She might have heard him chuckle as she did her best to reach blindly for some toilet paper and wipe herself without taking her eyes off the air vent above her head. The square stayed reassuringly black. 

“Right I’m finished.” She whispered as she zipped the boiler suit, not intending to look up again.

“Hey, Arya.”

She looked up into serious blue eyes.

“No heroics.”

“Sure.”

“See you on the other side.”

“See you on the other side.” She echoed. God, she hoped so. She wouldn’t let herself think on the alternative. 

Her eyes flicked away from his as the toilet door was opened with a crash. Rat Boy was back.

“You done yet bitch?!”

Time to go. She allowed herself one final look up as she unlocked the cubicle door, but there was only black.


	2. Chapter 2

Arya watched the lights of the rig swing away below her. From up here at night, lit up against the dark sea and sky, she had always thought it looked like a Christmas tree. She rested her head against the body of the ‘copter, letting the thud of the rotors sooth her. At least she would live to see another Christmas.

In moments, the lights were gone and in the darkness her mind replayed the image of her hand on the gun, putting a bullet in the back of Rat Boy’s head as Greyjoy’s brains splattering up the wall behind him. Christ, why had she given that boy a name? The other two she’d put a bullet in didn’t seem to be bothering her at all; just Rat Boy with his stupid mismatched sandals. She knew if she had warned Greyjoy, he would have given the game away. Even if he’d just stopped whining, the pirates would have known something was up. But why the fuck did he have to stand up, when everyone else dived for the floor?

She buried her face in her hands, only to have something hard bump against her knee. She looked down to see two bigger, black clad knees either side of her orange ones. They bumped hers again. She followed the black trousers up to the loaded belt, body armour, to find Mr Blue Eyes grinning at her. Dear God. Relief. He’d made it too. She hoped she managed to give him a weak smile back. Although the bits of his face that weren’t covered by helmet and chin strap were smeared in oily camouflage paint, at least he wasn’t just eyes and teeth anymore. He was very real, very alive and very big.

“How you doin’?” he yelled above the noise of the rotors. Everyone else in the cabin turned to look. He was still grinning and she wondered if he was deliberately trying to sound like Joey from friends. Bloody hell, this was weird. Was he really trying to chat her up in a helicopter escaping from hell? He winked. Yeah, he was. 

She slowly blew out long breath and mentally recited her list of rules on men…

No soldiers  
No soldiers  
No soldiers 

He bit the finger tip of one glove with those white teeth, pulling it off before holding out his hand. It took her a few seconds to realise he wanted his gun back.

She looked around the cabin. Mercifully, everyone else seemed to have turned away from them and back to their own thoughts. She unzipped her boiler suit and tugged his gun out of her bra. She knew without looked at him, where those blue eyes would be. So damn predictable. She intended to drop the gun into his open palm, avoiding touching him, but he had other ideas. His fingers reached for her wrist and there it was again; that jolt of electricity. She jerked her hand away as if he’d burned her. 

Taking back the SIG, he checked the empty clip and mouthed “How many you get?”

She held up three fingers, remembering Rat Boy plunge forward as her bullet found the back of his head.

She had got three, counted ten orange suits into the waiting helicopters and she’d seen Greyjoy die, but otherwise, she had no idea what had gone down. Chaos didn’t begin to describe it; automatic weapons fire coming from every direction, smoke, men screaming. After she had emptied her gun’s clip, it had only been about survival. She’d been down and stayed down until the standard issue assault boots had appeared in front of her eyes and she’d been hauled up and out of there. 

Mr Blue Eyes gave her a grin and a thumbs up. She rested her head against the solid body of the helicopter again and looked away, out the window into the black night.

 

Arya had no idea how long they had been in the air and she must have, somehow, dozed off as a city’s lights were now spread out below them. The change in the drone from the rotors confirmed they were slowing down for landing.

Mr Blue Eyes was looking out of the window too. She bumped his knee, still wedged between her orange ones and the fuselage. He turned towards her. No grin now, just calm, tired eyes.

“Where are we going?” she mouthed.

He shifted the assault rifle on his lap and leant forwards. He indicated for her to do the same. He smelled of metal, gunfire, fresh sweat and, rather incongruously, some citrusy aftershave. That made her smile. He put on aftershave before he went off to fight the bad guys. God only knew what she smelled like. 

“The helipad at the Sheraton hotel. We’re dropping you there.” His hot breath against her ear sent a shiver down her spine.

“Not the Embassy?”

He shook his head, his helmet gently bumping against the side of her face. “Politics. Don’t think we’re taking the credit for this one.” 

Oh, God, what had Jon had to do to pull this off? And how could she every thank him? And shouldn’t she should thank Mr Blue Eyes too, as she’d likely never see him again.

She reached up and pressed one hand against his opposite cheek, holding his face against hers. She breathed “Thank you” into his ear and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. She felt him turn and angle his head to hers, no doubt hoping for more, but she shoved his helmet firmly away. She could tell he was laughing, although all she could see were his eyes. 

“Perv,” she mouthed at him once they were both leaning back again. That only made him laugh more. She couldn’t help herself laughing too.

The ‘copter banked and the rotors slowed further. She was being brought back to reality, literally with a thump.

The cabin door was hauled open by more soldiers in helmets and body armour before the rotors stopped spinning. The noise was deafening, the wind hot and fierce in her face. Mr Blue Eyes was out and down first, offering his hand up to her. Legs not working properly, she almost fell out into his arms. He held her up as she cursed her weakness, but her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. 

Then there was a cascade of others behind her, jumping or being helped out by the waiting soldiers and ushered along into the bright lights of the hotel. She tried to move in that direction with the rest of them, but he had his hand on her arm and held her back. He pulled her out of the light and into the relative darkness towards the tail. All she could see once again were blue eyes and white teeth.

Talking was impossible, but he was trying, yelling something indistinguishable in her ear. 

“What?”

He tried again. She couldn’t hear a word and shrugged, holding up her hands, trying to communicate her difficulty. To her shock, he suddenly had his hand on the back of her neck and his lips crushed against hers. She didn’t even have time to respond before he was pushing her back out into the circle of light by a firm shove on her arse.

She staggered forward, towards the last of the group who had exited the ‘copter. Her shoulder was caught by one of the soldiers, intent on guiding her towards the lights of the hotel. Not yet. She twisted out his of grasp and looked back, in time to see Mr Blue Eyes disappear into the cabin, all black arse and boots, before the door was slammed shut. 

The rotors were spinning faster again and the hand grabbing her shoulder was more insistent. The lights were out in the helicopter’s cabin, but she thought she saw a salute behind the window as the landing skids began to lift off the ground. 

Then a hand was on her other shoulder too and she was being dragged back, away from the slowly rising ‘copter. 

By the time she was behind the glass of the hotel’s doors, the ‘copter’s lights were rapidly disappearing up towards the stars.

“Here Miss.” One of the soldiers handed her a folded square of white cotton. She looked at it blankly. What did she need that for? She hadn’t been crying and she didn’t intend to. 

“Err…you should wipe your face Miss.”

She looked at her reflection in the glass door. The lower half of her face was smeared with black camouflage. 

Arya couldn’t keep the smile off her lips as she wiped them clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you again tomorrow, when it's gonna get hot in here...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a bit later today as I found myself having to make another full Christmas dinner for unexpected visitors. Another turkey is in the oven and another Christmas pudding is boiling on the hob as I type this. What does it matter that the white linen tablecloth isn’t ironed and the carrots will be served unpeeled? I’m sure you will agree that this is more important!

Arya had tried to scrub herself clean in the shower. But she still didn’t feel clean. She had lain in the bath until she was prune-like, switched on the TV, given up trying to watch it, paced the room and was now lining up the contents of the mini bar thinking drunken oblivion might be the only way to still her crawling mind.

There was a guard outside her door. Still no sign of Jon and the only person she could phone was Sansa and her sister had enough on her plate without being burdened with this. 

She was alive. Unhurt. So what would she say to Sansa anyway? You’ll never guess what happened to me? God, perhaps she just needed someone to talk to, but they’d all be told to stay in their rooms. There was to be a debriefing and ‘help’ (whatever the hell that meant) when they arrived back home. The First commercial flight was early tomorrow, so she was stuck here until then, on her own, wound tight as a drum.

She’d already drunk the beers and a mini bottle of cheap red plonk. Still achingly sober, she’d lined up the alcohol that was left - two miniatures of everything. She didn’t like Gin, so that was at the back. With any luck, she might have passed out before she got to that. She didn’t much like whisky either, but after the rum and vodka, she hoped she might not even taste it.

Right – next question. Neat or with a mixer? She was still debating the merits of each option (drunk faster versus taste), when there was a knock at the door. 

Jon?

She ran to open it but groaned when she saw Mr Blue Eyes. She kept her hand firmly on the door handle, rested her forehead against the door frame and groaned.

No soldiers. Remember? You promised yourself. All soldiers do is die on you and leave you alone.

“Can I come in?”  
If she had any sense, she should shut the door in his face right now. But she’d never had any sense, had she?

“Thought you might like some company. Thought you might like to talk.”

Talk my arse. She knew why he was here and she knew how it would end. But his sweet words and his deep, rich voice poured over her like warm honey. She let her hand fall from the door and felt his body heat brush past her into the room. She was a fool.

“Well done mate,” the soldier outside the door sniggered.

At least she shut the door in his face. 

She knew she’d regret this, but she was lonely and perhaps a bit drunk after all. She rolled around, still resting against the door, to take a look at her doom. And what a magnificent doom he was.

Tall, dark, solid and he held himself with a confidence and fearlessness she liked. She liked that a lot. The twinkle in his blue eyes had been bad enough. Now she could see the lean, angular planes of his face and the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth she was lost. It wasn’t fair. 

“I had to make sure you were alright. I tried to ask if I could come and see you on the helipad, but you couldn’t hear me.”

“And what was the slap on the arse for?”

He smiled. She smiled back.

He shrugged. “I’ve never been very good at resisting temptation.” Fuck. Neither had she and it didn’t look like she was about to turn over a new leaf now. 

Blue eyes were all over her and she was acutely aware she was naked under the hotel’s towelling robe. She was awash with sensation, pure, bloody wonderful, lust. She took a step towards him and licked her lips. God, had she actually done that? She must be drunk. 

“And it was too much of a temptation to watch me pee I presume?”

“No Ma’ma. It went on for so long, I was worried you were going to disappear and my orders were to get you back at all costs.” He even managed to say that with a straight face. “I did like what I happened to see though.” The Cheshire Cat grin was back.

Cheeky bastard.

“So that’s really why you’re here?”

“Well, that and I thought you might want a hug.”

She laughed. Out loud. She didn’t know if it was the worst chat up line in the world or the best, for that’s exactly what she wanted right now, a pair of strong arms around her to hold her, heat and hardness and living flesh. Someone to tell her everything was going to be alright.

She walked into his arms and leant her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, just like her father and Robb had. Just like Jon did. What was she doing? He was only going to fuck off and leave her like her father and Robb had. It was an occupational hazard they said, as if everyone left behind could just carry on as before. She sighed against him, closed her eyes and slid her arms around his neck. Why was she thinking of the past or worrying about the future? He was here now, warm, solid and very much alive. That was all that mattered, all she needed tonight. He was all she needed. 

She knew exactly what she was doing. She just didn’t care.

Before she knew it, he was cradling her face in his hands, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids. Then his mouth was on hers, their tongues each seeking the other, sliding, dancing, sucking. She was kissing him back with a fierceness that sent blood thundering through every part of him. Her hands were tugging his T shirt out of his jeans and her warm, sure fingers brushing against the bare skin of his belly sent a tidal wave of lust straight to his cock.

She had his T shirt off. He had her robe untied, tugged off her shoulders and in a pool at her feet in moments. She struggled with his belt until he helped her and then they fell together onto the bed, the two of them scrabbling at his jeans and boxers. As soon as he was free, he rolled her onto her back. There was no time to think. She was wet, he was hard and they were both seeking oblivion. She was deliciously tight around his cock and her legs were a vice around his hips, urging him on; deeper, harder. Her moans were coming faster and louder. Dear God, he’d wanted to make her scream with pleasure, but this wasn’t the place. They needed to fuck in silence, so he clamped his mouth over hers, joining their tongues as their bodies were, swallowing her screams. 

As she climaxed hard and fast, he exploded in an orgasm that had him gasping for breath, stunned, ears ringing. No wonder the French called it ‘la petit mort’. Sex like that could kill a man.

He collapsed onto her, feeling her heart slamming as hard as his own, stray shudders dancing through her body, squeezing him. Fuck. If he stayed like this, he’d get hard again and he’d intended this to be about her, not him. He reluctantly withdrew and rolled away.

She never said a word. He listened to her ragged breathing return to normal, the silence growing and stretching, putting a distance between them that he didn’t want. He hoped she didn’t either, so her pushed his arm under her shoulders and pulled her into his side. She didn’t pull away. He kissed her forehead.

“Are you ok?” 

He felt her hesitate, before she moved, propping herself up on one elbow, face serious as she draped one thigh proprietarily across his. He smiled as he felt her wet against his hip. 

“Not bad.” She grinned, looking down the bed. Bloody hell, he hadn’t even managed to get all his clothes off. “Let’s see what you can do once you’ve got your boots off soldier.”

“Someone couldn’t resist me long enough to let me.” He gave her arse a hard squeeze and was rewarded with a surprised squeal and a playful slap on his chest. 

He liked that. Liked it? Hell, he loved it. 

So he kissed her and she kissed him back, more slowly this time, their urgent need sated for the moment. He wanted to stay as long as she would have him and take her every which way, but the truth was, he had no time. He shouldn’t even be here and she had to be on the first flight out, but God help him, he wanted to leave her well satisfied yet still eager for more. He wanted to make sure that the next time she wanted a man, she couldn’t think of anyone but him.

He broke the kiss first in order to finally remove his jeans and boots. He liked that she sat up and watched him and the smile playing on her lips told him she liked what she saw. 

When he was done, he stood at the end of the bed and took a good look at her. She was lying on her side, all long and slim and strong. God, she was even more beautiful naked than he had hoped and he had high hopes.

“Got another of your special hugs for me?” She asked playfully, eyeing his rapidly hardening cock. 

“Don’t be so impatient. Get on you stomach.” He growled.

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Unlike you soldier boy, I don’t take orders.”

He had to stifle a laugh. He liked a challenge and it looked like she was going to be a hell of a one. “On your stomach lady or I’ll make you.” He kneeled on the bed and slapped her arse for extra effect.

He hadn’t even planned his next move before she had him in a choke hold. He allowed himself a breathless moment to wonder where the hell she learned that, before he let instinct and training take over. He simultaneously grabbed her wrist, yanked and twisted out from under her, but to his surprise, she was ready for him, putting all her strength behind a knee strike to his stomach. He let out an involuntary ‘OOF!’ Shit! That hurt. A bit lower and she would have put him out of action for a week.

Bugger finesse, he was bigger, much stronger and he wasn’t going to let her get away with this. He made a straight grab for her, intending to pin her under him, but she used his momentum against him and he found himself shooting towards the edge of the bed. If he was going over, she was sure as hell going with him. He had her wrists in a vice like grip and no amount of her struggling was going to break that hold. She shrieked as she realised where she was heading. The thump was tremendous as first he hit the floor and then she landed on top of him. He was taking no chances this time and had her arms pinned to her sides and his legs crossed over her ankles, trapping her above him before she had time to escape.

They were interrupted by an urgent hammering on the door. “Are you ok in there Lady Stark?”

“Tell him yes or I’ll spank that pert arse of yours until it glows in the dark.” He rasped against her ear. She glared at him, struggled uselessly and snarled in frustration. “Please” he added with a cheeky grin.

“Seeing as you asked so nicely,” she huffed, sticking her tongue out at him, before yelling, “I’m fine. I just dropped something really, really heavy…and stupid.” 

“And I’m fine too – thanks for asking,” Mr Blue Eyes added loudly and very sarcastically. 

They waited together, lying still, breathing heavily, until they heard the solider on the other side of the door reluctantly mutter “Ok then,” and move away.

“If I let you go, are you going to play nice?” 

“Depends on what you mean by playing nice.” She gave him a wicked grin and squirmed against his now rock hard cock. 

He slowly relaxed his hold on her, not letting her go completely, wary of what she might try next, but she only kept up the delicious wriggling.

“I only wanted you on your stomach…” he gasped, momentarily silenced by her sliding herself down onto him, “…to check for bruises.”

“Well, ask me nicely next time and I might let you.”

“Next time.” he repeated, liking the sound of that.

“But you’ll have to impress me this time,” she giggled, lifting up until she was almost off him, arching her back and presenting her perfect, pert tits to him.

He pushed himself up off the carpet to take one hard, pink nipple in his mouth, while rubbing his thumb over the other. Her answering gasp of delight was enough to tell him he was making a good impression so far. He sucked and teased and nipped, first one and then the other, loving the hot little cries she was making.

He lifted his mouth off her breast. “No screaming this time.”

“I did not scream!” she was breathlessly indignant.

“Did so,” he murmured before taking a nipple in his mouth again and tugging gently.

“I never scream.”

He had to let her slippery nipple escape yet again. “Liar!” He gripped her hips and pulled her down hard on his cock as he thrust up. “You screamed for me lady”

She gave a loud gasp from the back of her throat. Not quite a scream yet, but getting closer. The sense of satisfaction that noise gave him only made him want to pleasure her more. He lifted her up slowly before driving home again. She let out an even louder moan.

“See?”

“Oh God, please, harder.”

With the worst possible timing, there was more knocking in the door, accompanied by an urgent warning “Waters, Waters…you hear me? You need to get your arse out of there, double quick time.”

“Don’t you dare stop.” She hissed, digging her fingers into his shoulders and grinding down on him.

“I hear you,” he managed to yell, through gritted teeth.

“The Gaffer has arrived and he’s asking what room the girl’s in. He’s on his way up right now. You get your sorry arse out of there, or there’ll be hell to pay!”

“Don’t stop and that’s an order.” She demanded in a hoarse whisper. 

“Yes, Ma’am, but...I might…need to…go a bit faster.”

He had no choice, he had to turn her over and finish it on the floor, thrusting, sweating, gasping as he took her as hard and fast as he could. As he felt her climax break, heard her breathy cries grow louder. He had to stifle her final scream with his hand, letting her bite him as she pulled him into his own release.

Then he was up and gathering up his things, while she lay there, motionless, with her eyes screwed shut.

The pounding in the door was becoming even more insistent. “He’s in the goddamn lift Waters!” the voice on the other side yelled.

By the time he had his jeans on and the rest of his stuff in his arms, she was unsteadily getting to her feet. He bent over and kissed her quickly. “This isn’t how I wanted to leave you, but The Gaffer will have my balls if he catches me here.”

She nodded, throat too dry to speak.

“Can I come and find you when you’re back in Westeros?”

She swallowed; he was leaving her alone already. “Promise you’ll come?” She managed hoarsely. 

He handed her the robe she had discarded earlier.

“I promise you Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

She nodded and he was gone. 

Arya was still fastening her robe as there was a sharp rap on the door.

“Come in!” she shouted unsteadily.

She couldn’t miss the panicked look on the guard’s face as he opened the door for the youngest ever Lord Commander of the SAS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normal service should be resumed tomorrow!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, one of the reasons I felt compelled to write this story was because of a castle in Scotland (not in Wester Ross, Scotland but close!) that caught my imagination and has become the Winterfell of my dreams. So this has been written with that specific place in mind. I’d recommend you take a look at ‘Inverary Castle’ on the net before you read this and particularly the images of the castle in the snow. It should set the scene nicely.

2 weeks later. 4 days before Christmas.

 

Leave was effective as of 6am. His satnav said it was 402.6 miles with an estimated journey time of 7 hours 11 minutes from the base in Hereford to Winterfell and he wanted to get going as soon as possible.

Gendry didn’t have a specific address for her – just Winterfell, Westeros, but he’d googled it and it didn’t look like a very big place; just a village with a castle, set on the shores of a lake, or loch as they called it up there. Very picturesque. He didn’t think she’d be hard to find once he got there. 

A few Starks were listed there under directory enquires, presumably relatives, but no “A. Stark”. But he was confident he would find her. He had her picture The Gaffer had give it to him before that mission and it was now safe in his wallet. He had conveniently ‘forgotten’ to give it back. 

He just hoped she was at home, but hell, it was Christmas, who wouldn’t be home at this time of year? Everyone. Everyone except Forces Personnel who had no say over where they were posted and guys like him who didn’t have a home. Alright, he had a flat near the base, but it wasn’t much of a home. He actually preferred being away at Christmas. He’d only spent one, miserable, lonely Christmas in his flat and he’d vowed – never again. If Arya Stark wasn’t at home, he figured he would be as well spending it in a hotel in Winterfell as anywhere else. He’d be less alone in a fucking hotel, but he hoped to God she was home.

He didn’t even need to go back to his flat before he set off. All he could carry on the bike had to fit into the panniers and a rucksack. By the time he had a couple of changes of clothes and her big knife – called a ‘Needle’ according to The Gaffer, he was ready. The knife was part of the vivid description The Gaffer had given to him personally before the mission along with the photo. 

After the gun battle, when he’d been searching through the bodies for Arya Stark, the knife had caught his eye in the belt of one of the dead pirates. He’d taken it and hidden it in his flak vest. Then he’d found her alive and got her the hell out of there. He could have returned it to her in the helicopter or in the hotel, but he hadn’t. He’d held onto it, hadn’t even told The Gaffer he had it. As long as he had her knife, he knew he would see her again. 

So with that in mind, he was packed at 6am and ready for the off. It would be dark for a few hours yet and he wanted to get a few hundred miles up the road before he stopped for breakfast at some motorway café. The big bike was built for journeys like this, but he’d never attempted 400 miles in one day and in winter before. He aimed to make Winterfell before it was dark, find her, maybe get a hotel before he froze his arse off. With a bit of luck, he wouldn’t be needing a hotel.

He started the bike, enjoying its throaty rumble and the promise of the adventure ahead. He let it warm up as he checked everything was secure, fastened his helmet and put on his warmest gloves.

Someone else was striding across the park, obviously eager to make an early start too. He was rather surprised to see it was Commander Snow. Did he even have a family to go home to? Nobody knew anything about his private life. There were no pictures in his office, no wife or girlfriend or even boyfriend ever turned up at any of the balls the officers had to attend. But he was obviously in a hurry to get somewhere. To Gendry’s surprise, The Gaffer was making his way over. Gendry took his helmet off again in a hurry and whipped out a salute.

“You going home for Christmas Waters?”

“Yes, Sir.” The simplest answer was always the safest.

“First time in a few years isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well enjoy yourself. You deserve it. That last mission was a hell of a success.”

“Thank you Sir. You have a good time too Sir.”

Commander Snow gave him a tight smile as if he didn’t really expect to. Gendry remained at attention until the Commander was safely sat in his big, comfy Audi. Only then did he put his helmet on again, walk the bike back out of the parking lot and head for the gate. 

He caught up with the Commander’s Audi less than a mile down the road. He gave a nod and a slight wave of acknowledgement as he passed, hoping the Commander wouldn’t remember next year quite how fast he was going. Winterfell here I come. 

-o-

7 hours 15 minutes later, he was sweeping down a long, right hand bend towards the village of Winterfell. It was like a scene out of a postcard; all white washed houses, dramatic sky, hills and water. He might have stopped to take a picture if he hadn’t been so Goddamn cold. Any further and he would have had to stop for the day. As it was, his fingers were numb and probably only the cold was stopping him from feeling the pain of 400 miles on a bike in his arse and legs. He’d made great time to start with, but latterly, he’d had to stop more often, to try and heat himself up with coffee and to stamp some life back into his legs. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was 10 degrees colder up here than it was down south. There had been snow on the hills for the last two hours, ever since he’d left Glasgow city behind and the sky was now threatening more. He wasn’t surprised to see the first, fat snowflakes float down as he crossed a quaint, hump-backed bridge into the village.

Find a hotel, find Arya, get warm. The order didn’t matter, as long as he accomplished them all soon.

He rode up the mainstreet. The shops were touristy and posh, all done up for Christmas. He passed a tartan goods shop, a golf store, a fishmonger’s, butcher’s, fancy deli and the cars parked up either side were mostly expensive 4x4’s or comfy family cars. Looked like he was going to fit right in here. Not. 

He hadn’t seen a hotel and was almost out the other end of the main street before he saw a place he could park the bike up. He stopped in front of the chemist and stiffly got off the bike. A hot bath would be heaven right now. He’d happily sell his soul for a hot bath with Arya Stark in it.

There was a plump, busy-body type woman behind the counter of the chemist shop and, apart from her; it looked as if the store was empty. He supposed that was as good a place as any to ask about Arya and a hotel.

He took off his helmet, feeling the cold snow flakes melt on his face and walked stiffly in and up to the counter. He absently minded picked up a packet of cough sweets and handed them to the woman, while fumbling with frozen, gloved hands inside his jacket for his wallet. Fortunately the woman seemed in no hurry and in the mood for a chat.

“Bit cold for bike today isn’t it? And it looks like the snow is on. Once it starts here, it forgets to stop.”

He gave her a polite smile, as he handed over a 10 pound note, feeling as if his frozen cheeks were going to crack with the effort.

“Have you got much further to go? The roads here aren’t great in the snow, especially on a bike.”

“No, I’m not going any further today. I’m looking for a hotel if you can point me in the right direction.”

There was apparently a hotel just beyond the end of the main street and if he’d continued on a bit, he couldn’t have missed it. He pocketed the cough sweets and decided to ask about Arya. 

“I’m here to visit a friend. I wonder if you know her – Arya Stark?”

The woman raised her eyebrows in obvious surprise. “Of course I know her. Everyone around here knows her.”

Dear God, she was infamous. What the hell did she get up to that meant everyone knew her?

“Do you know where I could find her today? Like, now?”

“I know where she lives,” a soft voice behind him said.

The chemist woman smiled at someone over his shoulder. He turned around to see a tall, elegant, rather stuffy woman standing behind him in the queue. She had beautiful, but tired eyes. She wore no make up and her reddish hair was scraped back from her face in a severe bun. She wore what Gendry assumed was the posh, country woman’s uniform of a green quilted Barbour jacket, tweedy skirt and Hunter Wellington boots. She might have been in her late twenties, but dressed like she was sixty five.

“I could take you now if you like?”

“Yeah, that would be great.” He beamed at her. What a stroke of luck! “Can we walk?” he didn’t think this woman was the type to hoist up her tweed skirt up and get on the back of his bike.

“No, it’s too far to walk in this weather, but I’m driving there now. You can follow me if you like.”

“Great! Thanks.”

His saviour smiled and walked past him to pay for what she was buying. It seemed to Gendry she was rather anxious to conceal what she had in her hand, deliberately turning her back to him and sliding whatever it was across the counter. Of course that just made him want to know what I was. It was easy to take a few steps back and to the side and just look over her shoulder. Three boxes of condoms. He had to stifle a surprised smile. No wonder she was keen to hide them. She was trying to cultivate the image of stuffy spinster and yet, with twelve condoms in each box, she was obviously getting plenty.

He pretended to be very interested in the display of vitamins, until she paid and was ready to leave.

“Ok to follow me?”

He nodded, eagerly following her out of the shop as he fastened his helmet. She crossed the road to a new, top of the range, green Range Rover. That didn’t surprise him at all. If he’d had to pick a vehicle for her, he would have picked that one. The snow was beginning to lie on the pavements and parked vehicles. He really hoped she was right and it wasn’t far. 

She waited for him to reverse his bike, before she pulled away, much faster than he expected and heading back down the main street. Just out of the village she took a side road, lined with ancient trees. Mercifully, it wasn’t long before the came to a pair of massive gates, beyond which he could see a fairytale castle at the end of a long, curving drive. Fuck. Arya Stark lived here? He was beginning to regret his impulsive decision to find her before he had booked into the hotel. God, he knew nothing about her, except she was somehow the major objective in that rescue from the oilrig and he got hard every time he thought about her. Fuck. She lived in a castle.

The gates opened as the Range Rover approached and he noticed the matching wolf heads on each gate as they drove through. Wolves, Stark, a castle. It was all beginning to ring a vague bell. If his brain wasn’t so frozen, he was sure he knew something about that, but he didn’t have time to think about it as the snow was falling more thickly now, coating his visor. He had to push it up and expose his face to the icy chill, in order to see where he was going.

The Range Rover didn’t stop on the road in front of the imposing entrance. Instead, it continued around the back, on a gravel drive that his bike didn’t like at all. The tyres slipped and skidded on the loose gravel and snow and he was relived when she finally stopped in front of some out-buildings, not too far from the castle itself. Maybe this was where Arya lived after all. He began to feel relived. Lady Ranger Rover jumped out and ran over to open a huge, barn door. She motioned for him to drive in. “Park your bike in the sables and I’ll drive you back to the house.”

Stables? Sure enough, he could see rows of stalls and horses heads. He parked his bike up in a corner, feeling more and more uneasy by the minute.

Lady Range Rover was waiting for him, still holding the door open, snow lying on her hair and shoulders. He jogged back towards her and tried to mutter appropriate thanks as he took off his helmet and got into the Range Rover beside her.

“You must be freezing, but the house is always warm. It’s probably the best thing about the place. We have thermal springs. Saves a fortune on heating.”

Gendry could only nod. 

The drive back to the castle was short and she parked at the back, showing him into the biggest kitchen he had ever seen. The first thing he noticed was the heat; very, very welcome against his frozen face. The room was dominated by a huge, old wooden dining table that could seat at least a dozen and one of those green, Aga wood burning, range stove things, as seen on TV cooking programs. Dear God. He was in a castle.

“Does Arya live here?” he blurted out, realising he was embarrassing himself with his lack of courtesy, but desperate to know all the same.

“Of course. Didn’t she tell you?”

He shook his head. Fuck. He knew nothing. What was he doing here? Every instinct was telling him to turn around and get the hell out.

“Well, there’s no need for you to stay in a hotel. As you can imagine, we have plenty of rooms here.”

He couldn’t imagine at all.

“Besides, Arya’s never invited a friend home before…” she gave him a coy, sideways look, “…and it will be good to have someone else here over Christmas. I take it you’re staying for Christmas?”

How did he answer that? Had Arya even invited him? Would she want him to stay for Christmas? Stay at all? He muttered, what he hoped was an unintelligible reply. 

She was taking off her posh jacket and her Wellington boots. He just stood there like an idiot. He was an idiot.

“My name is Sansa, by the way. I’m Arya’s sister. Her big sister.” She gave him a kind, welcoming smile.

Sansa. Arya’s sister. They looked nothing alike and Sansa was really, really posh. Shit.

“Hi, I’m Gendry.” He took off his glove and held out his hand. She looked at it in surprise. Too formal? Shit. She took it anyway and shook. He expected her hand to be soft and manicured, but it wasn’t. She obviously worked hard at something.

“Pleased to meet you Gendry. Take a seat, take your jacket off, make yourself at home. I don’t know where Arya is, probably in the gym, but everyone always ends up in the kitchen anyway.”

He stiffly started to do as she asked, but he felt like he was moving in a dream. Or a nightmare.

“Would you like a bowl of soup to warm you up? There’s always soup in the pot. Just help yourself anytime while you’re here.”

He nodded and she started pulling out bowls, plates and what looked like fresh baked bread. His stomach growled. She laughed.

“I’m chief cook and I like to keep everyone well fed. Jon always complains he’s half a stone heavier when he goes back.”

“Who’s Jon?” Gendry asked, heart thumping, dreading the answer.

“Oh, he’s our cousin. He’s staying for Christmas too.” She said with a smile which lit up her face and made her look like an entirely different person. Gendry thought she could be stunningly beautiful if she tried.

A cousin. That was ok. At least it wasn’t Arya’s husband or boyfriend. Shit. He needed to get a grip. She had made him promise to come and find her and here he was. She wouldn’t have done that if she already had another man would she?

Sansa put a huge bowl of thick soup and the loaf of bread down in front of him. “So which service are you in?” She asked, taking him aback.

“Don’t look so surprised. Every man in this family serves and the signs are pretty obvious.”

He ran his hand over his shorn hair. He supposed they were. He just wasn’t used to anyone pointing it out.

“Umm. Airforce.”

“So is Jon. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to talk about once he gets here. He’ll enjoy that.”

Sansa sat down opposite him.

“I sometimes wonder why he comes back here at all.” She added with a sigh and a sad smile. 

The kitchen door was thrown open with a crash to reveal Arya Stark, red, sweating and in the skimpiest workout gear he had ever seen. His spoon stopped half way to his mouth. 

Their eyes met and it was as if the air between them crackled down the length of the room and back.

Sansa stood up first. “Your friend has arrived!”

Arya’s eyes were like saucers. Nobody moved for too long.

“Ahh, Sansa, can I have a word?”

Arya stepped out the kitchen door. Sansa gave him an apologetic shrug and followed her sister, leaving Gendry standing alone in the huge kitchen like the idiot he was.

Arya closed the kitchen door behind them and whispered to Sansa, “Yeah, he’s my…ah…friend and I’m really pleased to see him, but…ah…can you tell me what his name is?”

Sansa could only shake her head in despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you noticed the chapters are getting longer? Not what I intended at all, but I’m committed now and you all seem to be enjoying it. Might take me a few more chapters to finish this...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for another delay - this time caused by a windows update that took my old laptop out of commission for seven, precious, planned, typing hours. Everything seems to be conspiring against me at the moment, but I have triumphed over adversity for you and here we go…

The snow was coming down thick and fast and, although it was only 3pm, it was beginning to get dark. Sansa was trying to dress the Christmas tree, but found herself stopping every few minutes to look out the drawing room window, searching for the headlights of his car. 

He had said he would be here by now and if the snow continued like this much longer, he’d struggle to get home. Why wouldn’t he listen to her and buy a 4x4? The Range Rover, or if she really needed it, the tractor, would make it down to the village, so she’d get him home, as long as he made it to the village.

Sansa had almost decided to go down to the village and wait for him, when she saw headlights in the distance, coming down the long drive. She hurriedly put the last of the tinsel on the tree and ran to the kitchen. She opened the back door and promptly closed it again as a flurry of snow whooshed in. She had to make do with looking out the window, waiting for him to drive around to the back of the house. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she smoothed her, suddenly clammy, hands down her skirt. She felt like a schoolgirl again; giddy, excited, foolish. 

It had been months since she’d seen him. Not only was there that, this was the first time he would be at home for Christmas since he had enlisted and it would be their first together as lovers. She prayed for peace in the house and for him to enjoy his time here; for them both to enjoy his time here. She prayed that nothing had changed between them, yet part of her longed for everything to change.

His car proceeded slowly until it parked beside her Range Rover. As soon as the headlights went out, she opened the door again, not caring about the blizzard blowing in. She wrapped her arms around herself, partly to keep warm and partly to comfort herself because she was so nervous.

He ran from the car, through the curtains of snow, all long and lean and perfect. She wanted to believe he was running for her. 

In moments, he was up the steps and beside her, shaking the snow from his shoulders, stamping it from his shoes and dropping his bag at his feet. She waited patiently, as she always did. She was good at waiting.

It was always the same; at least it had been since he started coming back. There had been years when he’d stayed away, with good reason, but he’d come back three years ago, to see Rickon before he enlisted. That was when everything had changed. He’d seen how bad it was and he’d held her while she cried and cried and the next time he returned, just holding her hadn’t been enough for either of them. Since then, he had come back as often as he could; to help her, to comfort her. Sometimes she thought his visits were all that were keeping her alive.

But it was always awkward at first. Three months was a long time and they wrote, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, risk anything else. He said everything he did when he was working was monitored, watched and although she told him over and over that she didn’t care what anyone else thought; he wouldn’t risk the scandal if they were caught. So she wrote to him at his house in Hereford - a house she’d never seen and he replied when he could. She poured her heart out to him in her letters and sometimes he could phone and that was all she had to sustain her until he came back to her again.

So she waited now, as she waited during the empty months.

He walked into the kitchen and took a long look around before hanging his jacket over the back of a chair. She hadn’t noticed the silver in his hair before, but it shone now, under the bright kitchen lights. The years were passing, slowly it seemed when he wasn’t here and far too quickly when he was. It was as if she was only truly alive when he was here and the rest of the time she was just coping, surviving. 

“So who’s here?” 

They went through the same routine every time he returned. She knew what he hoped to hear and her heart sank every time he asked, for the answer she gave was never the one he wanted.

“Arya’s here and she has a friend with her, but they’re upstairs and I don’t think we’ll see them for a while.” Sansa said with a slight smile. “I’m hoping he’ll stay for Christmas.” She didn’t think that soldier had come all the way here just to give Arya a Christmas card. She hoped he made Arya happy. They could all do with some of that.

Jon nodded, his mouth a tight, hard line. Arya wasn’t the one he was concerned about.

“And your mother?” 

He couldn’t hide the tension and bitterness in his voice. It pained her to see his jaw clench and unclench as he waited for her answer.

“Just the same.” 

He snorted and turned away from her. She caught his arm with both her hands and pulled him back. He didn’t turn away again, but the disappointment on his face, made her heart ache.

“She’s sleeping just now. We have an hour at least.”

He gripped her shoulders, eyes black and unfathomable. “Do you still want me Sansa?”

She looked up at him and whispered, “Always.” 

Why did he feel the need to ask? 

He lifted his hands to her hair and deftly released the clip that held it in a neat bun. As her auburn hair tumbled down her back and around her shoulders, he ran his fingers through it, caressing the nape of her neck, all the while his eyes never leaving hers.

“I want you so much Sansa, some days I can hardly bear it.” His voice was thick and heavy with desire.

She lifted her face to him, willing him to kiss her. He paused for an achingly long moment, staring into her eyes, as if searching for something. Then his lips brushed against hers and she closed her eyes, wanting to savour this; not wanting to have to see or think on anything except him and her together. His lips were always so soft and warm, although the rest of him was angry and hard. As he held her against him, she felt the tears begin to flow, as they always did. Every time she promised herself she wouldn’t cry and every time she was unable to stop herself. 

He kissed them away as they rolled slowly down her cheeks. 

“It kills me to see you to like this Sansa.” He murmured as her tears came harder and faster and his kisses were no longer enough.

“Take me to bed.” She pleaded. “Make me forget.”

He blew out a heavy sighed and reluctantly pulled away, picking up his bag and then taking her hand in his.

“My room?” 

Always the same question. Always the same answer. 

“We had better go to mine so I can hear mum.”

He gritted his teeth, but led the way up to her room as she’d asked. 

-o-

Arya had shown Gendry a corridor and told him to pick a room. He’d reluctantly picked one, beating himself up over why she didn’t just want to share. Maybe it was because they had so many to spare? He was kidding himself. She could have any man she wanted, so why would she want him? He’d just been lucky enough to be the one to save The Princess. At the time, he had been sure the attraction had been mutual, but now he had the sickening thought that he have taken advantage of her when she was vulnerable which, from what he’d seen, was probably a very rare occurrence. Whatever the reason, she certainly wasn’t all over him now.

His room was huge, almost the size of his whole flat. A four poster bed was set against one, oak panelled wall and there was still plenty of room for other, ornate furniture. There was also a separate bathroom with the biggest bath he’d ever seen. It would easily fit two. Hell, it would probably accommodate three if you were that way inclined. 

While he took a look around, Princess Arya plonked herself down on the edge of the bed. He wasn’t sure if that was an invitation or not. Christ, he felt awkward. He was out his depth here, way out of this depth.

He didn’t even want to unpack his pathetic, battered old rucksack, feeling as if he might be asked to leave at any time. Any minute now someone was going to realise he was just a poor bastard who didn’t belong here and ask him to leave. And it would probably be Arya. Just to make matters worse, the way the snow was falling, he’d be walking out of here.

So he just left his rucksack, unopened, on top of one of the beautifully carved sets of drawers, left Arya on the bed and started running a bath. He left the bathroom door open. Surely that was enough of an invitation for her? He remembered wishing for a hot bath with Arya in it. He was a stupid, deluded bastard.

He turned on the hot tap and sat on the edge of the bath to take his boots off. They were the best money could buy, but his feet still felt like blocks of ice. By the time he had his clothes off, the bathroom was full of steam and there was still no sign of Arya. 

So he sat in the bath, feeling exposed and a right fool as his limp cock bobbed pathetically in the water.

It seemed like ages, but then she was at the door, brandishing a pink bottle, “Sansa gave me this last Christmas, but I’ve never used it.”

He watched her walk over. He could watch her forever. She bent over and poured some pink stuff under the running tap. “You’re going to smell lovely.” 

He was too busy staring at the cheeks of her arse, peeking out of her tiny lycra shorts to come back with any kind of smart reply.

“What do you call those things you’re wearing?”

She straightened up, running her hand down her stomach, over the black lycra and over the curve of her arse. He was transfixed and his cock was excited. 

“Gym shorts I suppose,” she said with a sly smile.

“Well you’d better not be wearing them when any other men are about, they’re...they’re indecent!”

She snorted and sat down on the edge of the bath, deliberately opening her legs and resting one trainer on her other knee. Sweet Jesus, he was going to expire.

“That reminds me soldier boy. That sneaky love bite of yours left me with a load of explaining to do during my medical examination the next day.”

He feigned innocence. “It must have happened when we were fighting. You should’ve let me check for bruises like I asked.”

God help him, he had done it deliberately to mark his territory in the most primitive way and he was pleased he had. Who knew what the bloody doctors might try.

To avoid any more awkward questions, he let himself slip under the water. He could lie stretched out in this bath – for the first time in his life he’d found a bath that fitted him. When he surfaced again, through a thick layer of bubbles, she was standing at the side of the bath naked as the day she was born. What a sight. He marvelled at how strength looked different in a woman. He knew she was strong, but she still had sweeping curves and long, smooth limbs. His cock certainly wasn’t limp any more.

Then she made his dreams come true by stepping into his bath. She stood above him and it was all he could do not to grab her hips and bury his face in that sweet, sweet place between her thighs.

“Open your legs soldier.” She ordered. He had just been about to ask her to do the same. He didn’t hesitate to comply.

She turned around and her arse in front of his face was possibly even better. Then, with a little squeal of delight as she sank into the hot water, she was sitting in front of him, almost on his lap and he thought he might had died and gone to heaven after all.

She settled herself, leaning back against his shoulder, letting her head fall to the side, exposing her graceful, oh-so-tempting neck. He feathered it with kisses and little licks as she moaned softly with pleasure. He let his hands slide forwards, over his own legs onto her smoother, softer thighs. She gasped as ran his fingers slowly up and over her stomach until he cupped the underside of her breasts. They were soft in his hands, her nipples eager and responsive in the soapy bubbles as he rolled them between his thumb and first finger 

His cock was hard against her and he pulled her even further backwards, so they could both enjoy the sensation of his cock pulsing against her back. She writhed against him as he teased her breasts with his fingers and sent shivers of pleasure down her back with his mouth on her neck. 

“Have you got a condom?” she asked breathlessly.

He immediately stopped massaging her breasts and lifted his head from her neck.

“Why?”

“Why do you think, stupid?”

He turned her shoulders half around so he could see her face. “I assumed you were on the pill or something. We never used a condom...before.”

“Well, I’m not and that was...that was emergency sex. I was taken by surprise.” She muttered, studiously avoiding eye contact, “And afterwards…I kind of forgot because there was so much going on.”

“She kind of forgot???” he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say what he was thinking out loud.

Seeing the look on his face, she spluttered, “I’m sure it will be fine. My period is due any day now. You’ll just have to…you know...pull out this time.”

“Pull out?” he echoed. The words horse, gate and bolted, ran through his mind, quickly followed by a vision of their kids running amok in this castle, all with black hair, the boys with blue eyes and the girls with grey eyes, like hers.

“So we agree? You’ll pull out?” 

That certainly brought him out of his daydream.

“Sansa’s got a whole bunch of condoms, why don’t you go and ask her?”

Arya sat up straight in the bath, “No way.”

“Yes way. She was buying three boxes when I met her in the chemist.”

“No way!”

He shrugged. “I’m telling you. She’s either getting plenty or knows someone who is.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he had a sudden, horrific thought it might be Arya.

“Did she buy them for you?” he demanded accusingly.

“Hardly.” She snapped. “If she did, I wouldn’t be asking you now, would I?”

“I guess not.” He admitted, feeling stupid again. “So who do you think the lucky guy is?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Lucky? Depends on what you mean by lucky. All Sansa does is look after mum and cook.”

That didn’t sound so bad to Gendry. The fact that she was stinking rich and lived in a fairytale castle would attract men like flies he was sure.

“No way, is there any guy. I’ve been here two weeks and there’s not even been a sniff of a man.”

“How about this cousin Jon she told me about? Cousins are fair game aren’t they?”

“No way!” Arya yelled, almost jumping out the bath. “He’s our brother, not our cousin.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“He was brought up as our brother, well kind of...but our mother hated him, so he was like a child she was ashamed of. Kind of here, but not here. It’s uh...it’s complicated, but I’m glad Sansa warned you he was coming.”

Warned him? Why would Sansa need to warn him? It certainly seemed complicated to Gendry. These rich families got up to all sorts he presumed. Ordinary folk didn’t have the money for all that carry on.

“And while we’re talking about my mother, I should warn you – she’s mad.”

“Mad?” Gendry wasn’t sure he was understanding any of this and his cock wasn’t keen on him wasting time listening.

“Yeah, loopy, demented, whatever…and not in a good way. It’s easiest just to humour her. Just say ‘yes’ to everything she says, otherwise you’ll be wishing you stayed in a hotel after all.”

“I doubt that,” he growled as he lifted her up by her hips and impaled her firmly on his impatient cock. They both moaned with the pleasure of it. 

“Are these walls soundproof?” he whispered against her ear.

“Of course, it’s a castle isn’t it? Why?” she asked breathlessly as she wriggled on his lap.

“’Cos I’m gonna make you scream.”

-o-

Sansa began to cry again as the last remnants of her orgasm dissipated and Jon eased himself away. He knew he hadn’t hurt her, for he’d asked her often enough. He knew she wanted this as much as he did, but he hated it when she cried. 

Every time he left, he told her and promised himself he wouldn’t come back until she’d sorted things out with her mother, but then her letters came and he’d see again how lonely and lost she was and he knew he’d do anything for her. He would go to the ends of the earth for her if she needed him to.

He rested her head on his shoulder and stroked her hair, following it down, tracing the outline of her spine and the curve of her hip. She was too thin, too busy taking care of everyone else and not herself. He’d need to try and get her to eat more while he was here. He absentmindedly kissed the top of her head and, despite her tears, felt her cuddle up tighter against him. This felt so right; here with her. He couldn’t imagine ever not having her to come home too and although the thought of her with another man sent his blood boiling, he couldn’t continue like this much longer.

“Come away with me.” The words were out before he’d had the sense to censor his thoughts. That’s what he had been thinking, but he hadn’t intended to say it out loud, for he already knew her answer.

“You know I can’t.”

“You can do anything you want. She shouldn’t be here. Dr Luwin told you a year ago it was time to send her away.”

“I...I can’t. She’s my mother.”

But she’s not mine! He wanted to yell at her, but this time he managed to keep his thoughts to himself. He wanted her to choose because he wanted to have her all to himself. But he knew if he forced her, she wouldn’t choose him and that was a knife in his heart.

“She could be somewhere better.”

Jon felt Sansa’s breathing come in shorter gasps and her chest shudder against his. Fuck. He’d made things even worse. But what the fuck else could he do? To make her cry was the last thing he wanted, but he felt so damn helpless and that wasn’t a feeling he was used to.

He only knew one way to take her away, make her forget for a while. He slowly eased around her, gently rolling his hips onto hers, wrapping her in his arms, kissing her tears away again. Gradually, he felt her relax beneath him and begin to move to the same rhythm as him. She held onto him as if she was drowning and kissed him back with a desperation that broke his heart. He knew their time was nearly up, but he needed to take her again, make her forget, make her his for a while longer.

As he reached for another condom she stiffened beneath him. Fucking hell. 

She always heard it before he did, whatever it was that alerted her; whether it was the movement of the bed or her mother’s feet on the floor or whether it was some kind of sixth sense. He didn’t know. All he knew was their brief time together was over and reality had come crashing back around them. 

He rolled off her with an angry grunt and flung his arm over his eyes in frustration. 

She was already half way across the room when the shrieking started, 

“Sansa, Sansa! Where are you?! I need you!”

Without a backward glance to him, Sansa was dressed and hurrying off to attend to bloody Lady Catelyn Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to you all when it comes...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM BONNIE SCOTLAND

He’d pulled out the first time, like a good boy, but he’d had to finish her with his fingers and there had been no screaming. He was determined to do better.

This time he had sucked and licked and teased her to the brink again and again, but never let her over it and now she was begging him, moaning his name and dear God it felt good to hear that, to have her so wet, so desperate for him. She had repeatedly tried to touch his cock, to guide him to her and he had denied her every time, but he wasn’t going to last much longer and he still had to pull out, like she asked.

The time had come and they both gasped as he finally pushed inside her. Her legs were around him like a vice and she urged him on demanding he go harder, faster, harder as he rammed into her. He could feel her tense as she came, screaming his name over and over and this time he didn’t try to silence her, but he tried to pull away. She held onto him with all of her strength, legs locked on his back, fingers digging into the cheeks of his arse, refusing to let him go, making her intention clear. He had to cry out too as he came, hot and hard, feeling her tight muscles suck him and his seed deeper into her. 

He collapsed on top of her, his chest heaving as he kissed his face and hair. 

“I’m sorry…I couldn’t…pull out. I’m so sorry…” he gasped, ashamed he’d lost control. 

She took his face in his hands and kissed his lips, silencing him, “I wanted it all Gendry, I wanted all of you.”

He groaned as he rolled off of her, thinking she was going to get more than she bargained for and, if he was being honest with himself, wasn’t that exactly what he hoped for? That she would be pregnant with his child, that there would be a happy ever after for the two of them, or perhaps the three of them. 

He turned her onto her side and tucked her close up against him, stroking her flat stomach, needing to say this, determined to leave her in no doubt of his intentions, “I’ve always wanted kids,” he whispered against her ear.

“Don’t…”she started, 

He cut her off, before she could say any more.

“Hear me out Arya,” he placed both of his hands on her stomach, lacing his fingers together protectively, “you’ve had me since you slipped that gun in your bra and I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.”

He waited a long time for her reply.

“We both know you’re going to leave me,” she said in a small voice, shivering against him.

“But I’ll always come back.” He promised, hoping that, for the first time in his life, he would have someone to come home to.

-o-

“What’s for dinner?” Lady Catelyn Stark demanded, looking up from the partially peeled carrot in her hand.

“Steak pie,” Sansa sighed, “But if we don’t get these vegetables done, there won’t be any dinner.”

“I hate steak pie.” Lady Catelyn snapped.

Sansa stifled another sigh. Why could her mother remember everything she ever hated and yet not remember what happened moments ago? And she couldn’t only remember everything she hated, she could remember everyone. 

Steak pie was Jon’s favourite and that’s why Sansa had lovingly prepared it earlier, but she was anxious about dinner tonight. The first time her mother saw Jon again was always the worst. After a few days, she seemed to become resigned to his presence and simply ignored him most of the time, just as she had done before she became ill. But it was always awful at the beginning.

“Why am I peeling a carrot? I shouldn’t be doing servant’s work!” Lady Catelyn snarled, dropping the carrot and the peeler in the sink with a clatter.

Sansa didn’t react, didn’t even look up. She calmly told her mother, “You’re helping me and we need carrots for dinner.”

Lady Catelyn picked the carrot up again. “What’s for dinner?”

-o-

“You’d better meet my mum.” Arya muttered as they walked down the sweeping central staircase. 

“Sure,” Gendry replied, distracted by the weapons that adorned the walls; swords, muskets, pistols. Any kind of weapon, ancient or modern fascinated him and he intended to come back and have a good look on his own some time soon.

Arya walked past a display of photographs in a glass cabinet near the bottom of the stairs, but the Regimental badge in the middle of the case caught Gendry’s eye and he stopped, intrigued. He recognised some of the campaign medals, but there were other older ones he would need to examine more carefully. 

The case contained at least a dozen pictures of men in SAS uniform, from the Second World War – the beginnings of the regiment, on through the decades until what looked like modern times. When he took a closer look at the coloured ones, he could only stare in shock. 

Benjen Stark, missing in action, presumed dead. 

Brandon, another dead war hero. 

Eddard Stark and Robb Stark standing side by side. All legends in the Regiment. 

How could he have been so naive? This explained was why The Gaffer had ordered him to give her the gun and why she could give as good as she got in a fight. No wonder Arya didn’t want him to leave, was wary of him. Every one of the men whose pictures were in the cabinet had died in combat. 

Gendry quickly assed their ages; Robb would be the right age to be her brother and Eddard her father. Shit. Didn’t Eddard Stark have another son too? Bran he thought the name was. Wounded in action, ended up in a wheel chair. There were no photos of him in the case. Gendry presumed he was still alive, otherwise, wouldn’t his medals and photos be on display here too?

He heard Arya groan beside him, “So you’ve discovered my family’s, illustrious history? Death and more death. Who dares wins? Bullshit! ‘Who dares dies’ should be the motto of your regiment,” she said bitterly.

“We don’t all die,” he replied tightly, but she was already stomping away towards the kitchen. He could see the anger in her gait, but he could only imagine the pain of losing first your father, then your brother and seeing another brother crippled in service. Fuck. He could certainly pick them couldn’t he? Trust him to fall for the daughter of the Regiment’s equivalent of royalty. A Princess indeed.

By the time he got into the kitchen, Arya had her head in the fridge and was studiously ignoring him. Sansa was working at the sink with an older, much smaller woman, he presumed to be their mother. They both looked up at him as he walked in, Sansa with a welcoming smile, her mother with a wild eyed stare.

With a shriek, the old woman headed towards him. He stopped dead in his tracks, shocked, nerves jangling, ready for anything.

But he wasn’t ready for what actually happened. The old woman shrieked “Robert!” before trying to fling her bony arms around his neck. She only managed to grasp his biceps as he was so much taller than her. All his training hadn’t prepared him for this and he stood like a rabbit caught in the headlights, looking pleadingly towards Arya for help.

“Just humour her” Arya said, shrugging helplessly.

“Oh Robert, it’s been too long! Is Ned with you?”

Sansa started trying to make introductions, totally ignoring the scene going on in front of her, “Gendry, this is our mother, Lady Catelyn Stark, mother this is…”

“I know who he is!” Lady Stark snapped. “But where is Ned?” 

The old woman strained her neck to look behind Gendry. He turned his head too, expecting to see someone else there – perhaps this ‘Robert’ she was shrieking about, or ‘Ned’. But there was no-one and to his horror, Lady Catelyn started trying to shake him, her bony hands digging into his arms like claws, “Where is he? You tell me where he is!” she demanded.

“Mother!” Sansa said, loudly and firmly, but the old woman ignored her. 

Sansa came around beside Gendry, so she could look her mother in the eye. Lady Stark did stop clutching at Gendry, but snarled at Sansa, “Your father better not be bringing another bastard back with him!” 

Sansa started trying to sooth her mother with soft words, but her mother was having none of it and started trying to shake Gendry again,

“Is that where he is? Is he away with her? Is he bringing another bastard into this house? Tell me Robert, tell me!”

She was clawing at him so frantically that Gendry thought she might draw blood. Sansa’s voice had risen to a strained, higher pitch and she looked ready to weep. Arya had her hands over her ears and seemed to be talking to herself, muttering a list of indistinguishable words under her breath. 

“Tell me the truth Robert! Tell me!" Catelyn shrieked again.

It was left to Gendry to take control of the situation. He prised Lady Stark’s hands from his arms but still held her wrists tight, “Ned is not here at the moment and I can assure you that he is not bringing another bastard into your house.” 

The old woman stared up at him with glassy eyes.

“Now sit down and Sansa will make you a cup of tea.”

Lady Stark didn’t move. 

“Do as I say Catelyn or I’ll tell Ned that you’re not listening to me.”

“Yes, of course,” she muttered, “I’ll have a cup of tea and wait for Ned.”

Gendry let go of her and watched as she shuffled off to sit at the table. Sansa immediately rushed to her mother’s side and put a protective arm around her thin shoulder.

Gendry went to Arya who no longer had her hands over her ears, but stood rooted to the spot, white as a sheet. He wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her better, but he had no idea what her mother would think of that and he wanted to avoid more drama at all costs. God only knew who this ‘Robert’ she was shrieking about was and what Lady Stark would think of ‘Robert’ kissing her daughter.

Arya tried to mumble an apology, “I’m so sorry. She’s never been this bad before.”

“Can we please get out of this kitchen Arya? I need a drink.”

She looked up at him and forced a smile back onto her face. “Yes, of course. Sansa put the Christmas tree up in the drawing room. We’ll go there.”

As soon as they were out of the kitchen, he hugged her and kissed her and asked if there was anything he could do, but she just sighed and shook her head. 

“I’ll ask Sansa to call Dr Luwin out again, but she won’t put mum in a home. Sansa thinks it’s her duty to look after her.”

“But your mother…” he tailed off, wanting to say ‘is mad and should be locked up’, but that was hardly helpful. So he settled for “…needs professional help.”

“I know” Arya admitted, “but if Sansa’s prepared to look after her, then the rest of us just have to put up with it. Don’t we?”

Gendry shook his head, not agreeing, but not wanting to cause an argument in someone else’s family. What did he know about families anyway?

“She’s our mother.” Arya said quietly, as if that justified everything.

Gendry blew out a long sigh. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad having no family after all. It was certainly a hell of a lot simpler.

“Let’s get that drink.” 

If Arya hadn’t been there to show him they way, he would have been lost. The drawing room was at the front of the castle while the kitchen was at the back. Around every corner, there was something else to amaze him; a suite of armour, an elephant’s foot umbrella stand he suspected might actually be real, a tattered flag mounted in an ornate gilded frame that had to have a fascinating history. He could wander around here for hours, just looking…or playing hide and seek with those kids he had imagined earlier. He had another 13 days and 7 hours of leave left. He’d know one way or another by then; whether she was pregnant and whether she was his.

A huge, wall mounted TV was on in the drawing room - one of the newer James Bond movies. He’d quite happily sit down with a drink and watch that. There were at least a dozen, overstuffed chairs in the room and, even after Arya yelled “Jon!” it took him a few moments to locate the person watching the TV. 

When he did, ‘shock’ didn’t even begin to adequately describe his reaction. Getting up from one of those overstuffed chairs, with a drink in his hand, was The Gaffer.

All Gendry could think about was the protocol for saluting your Lord Commander when you encountered him watching TV and you’d just shagged his sister. His Training Sergeant’s advice on saluting had always been - when in doubt whip it out – and Gendry did, snapping off a salute while trying not to think of what he had so recently whipped out for Arya.

The Gaffer seemed just as shocked as he was, looking first at him, then at Arya and then back to him, this time with narrowed eyes and a curled lip. Bloody hell, he was in for it now.

“What the hell are you doing here Waters?” 

Jesus, The Gaffer had slippers on. This was just too fucking weird.

Arya responded before he could, sauntering over to Jon and sliding an arm around his waist,

“Didn’t I tell you? Gendry and I swapped phone numbers on the helicopter and I invited him over for Christmas.” She gave Jon a most beguiling, innocent smile before pecking him on the cheek. Jon kissed the top of her head in return, but kept his icy stare in Gendry.

“I thought you’d be pleased for me Jon…after all, you did say he was the best man you had.”

She winked at Gendry as she kissed the The Gaffer’s cheek again. 

Gendry had no time to think about how easily Arya had them both wrapped around her finger. All he could think about was that The Gaffer thought Gendry was the best he had. Result! 

As Arya clung, like a limpet to his waist, Commander Snow looked embarrassed, which again was way too fucking weird. 

The Gaffer took a step towards Gendry, as Arya tried to hold him back. Fuck. Gendry wasn’t sure whether he was going to get punched or not. He steeled himself for it anyway. What was the protocol for this? Did you salute The Gaffer after he lamped you one for screwing his sister?

To Gendry’s amazement and relief, The Gaffer offered his hand, “If you’re joining us for Christmas Gendry, then you’d better call me Jon, and forget the salutes meantime.” 

Bloody hell! The Gaffer even smiled!  
Gendry took the proffered hand and pumped it up and down enthusiastically, “Merry Christmas Sir, I mean Merry Christmas Jon.”

Arya winked at him again and he thought he might just fit in here after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be the last chapter tomorrow, might not, but I’m back at work the day after (Boo! Hoo!) So I’ve got to try…


	7. Chapter 7

Arya handed Gendry a glass of whisky and topped Jon’s up before pouring herself a large brandy.

“Have you any idea who this ‘Robert’ is?” Arya asked Jon.

Her brother shook his head and took a sip of the whisky before musing, “He obviously knew your father though and, by the sounds of it, they went off somewhere and brought me back.”

“Jon’s the bastard mum was referring to.” Arya muttered offhandedly to Gendry, as if that explained anything at all.

“Oh.” Was all Gendry could manage to say, thinking you couldn’t make this stuff up. Any more Stark family weirdness and he might have to start looking around for hidden cameras.

Gendry watched Jon and Arya as they threw some suggestions around. Jon thought it might be someone in The Regiment, possibly someone who knew his father too. Arya was coming up with names of her mother’s and father’s contemporaries who were still alive and who might know who ‘Robert’ was.

It all meant nothing to Gendry, but he was fascinated by how alike Arya and Jon were. It wasn’t just that they looked alike – tall and slim with grey eyes and dark hair. He could see Arya’s mannerisms in the way Jon tapped his fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair and he could see Jon in the determined way Arya set her jaw when she was deep in thought. He wondered what it would be like to have someone who was obviously so close to you and he felt jealous; jealous of them both, jealous of everything they had.

As he watched Arya take her first sip of the brandy, an awful thought scorched through his brain – she could be pregnant!

“Can I have a taste of that brandy please Arya?”

She absentmindedly handed him her glass. He downed it in one. 

Arya opened her mouth to complain, but he nodded pointedly at her stomach and watched her mouth form a perfect ‘O’. Then she blushed and bit the side of her mouth nervously. “I think I’ll have a coke” she muttered. 

Only once she was back at the bar, did Gendry notice that Jon was watching them both intently, with an unreadable expression on his face.

“So why don’t you move Lady Catelyn to a…more suitable place?” Gendry asked, wanting to distract Jon in the hope that he wouldn’t put two and two together and come up with ‘pregnant’. The Gaffer had a reputation for being extraordinarily perceptive and for being able to get exactly what he needed out of his men. Knowing that made it all the more surprising to Gendry that Jon hadn’t already dealt with Lady Catelyn in a more efficient way.

Jon sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. He looked at Arya, who subconsciously mirrored the gesture. God, they were so alike it was unsettling.

“To coin a phrase Gendry…we would if we could, but we can’t.”

Arya nodded her agreement as Jon continued wearily, “Sansa is her oldest living child, her ‘next of kin’, so they decision is Sansa’s and Sansa’s alone.”

“And she is determined to keep mother at home as long as possible.” Arya added.

“Even though Sansa is making herself ill with this blind selflessness.” Jon said through gritted teeth. 

“And Sansa won’t listen to anyone, even Jon.”

“Or to Dr Luwin. You see Gendry, as Catelyn hasn’t been a danger to herself or to anyone else, Dr Luwin can’t do anything either without Sansa’s agreement…and he’s never going to get that.” Jon added bitterly.

There was a pause as all three of them took a sip of their drinks, there seeming to be no answer to this dilemma.

“Perhaps Dr Luwin knows who this ‘Robert’ is though?” Arya mused.

Jon looked up from his glass of whisky. “I’d like to speak to the Doctor anyway. I’ll phone him tomorrow and, if the snow allows, perhaps he’ll come up, take another look at her Ladyship and try and talk some sense into Sansa. We can ask him about ‘Robert’ while he’s here.”

“Dr Luwin was the one who told Jon that he wasn’t really our brother…after Dad died.”

“Oh.” Was all Gendry could find to say again. What a fucking mess. Obviously all this money couldn’t buy you happiness.

-o-

As they walked through to dinner, Jon drew Gendry aside and looked him square in the eye, his voice was serious and commanding as he spoke, The Gaffer was back.

“What you see tonight goes no further Waters. I am in a very difficult, very precarious position here. Lady Stark is mentally ill and I will not risk further harm to my family by speaking my mind to her. You will hear Catelyn Stark refer to me as ‘the bastard’” Jon snarled the word ‘bastard’ conveying perfectly his hatred of the word and of the woman who uttered it to Gendry. “I tolerate it for my own reasons and you will not comment on it either here or in any other situation.”

“Yes Sir.”

“I hope I have made myself clear Gendry?”

“Yes Sir.”

“And if she likes you, or this ‘Robert’, as Arya seems to think she does, then for God’s sakes just humour the bitch. Let’s try and get through this dinner without someone committing a murder.”

Gendry was sure if The Gaffer was joking or not.

Lady Catelyn Stark, Sansa and Arya were already waiting for them in the dinning room.

As Gendry walked in, Lady Catelyn spoke in a much calmer, much more cultured voice than she had earlier on in the kitchen, “Girls, we are honoured to have your father’s oldest friend with us and he also happens to be head of one of the Great Houses of Westeros.”

Gendry raised his eyebrows in surprise; not only had she totally ignored Jon, the old bat was acting as if the King had come to tea. Oh well, he thought, Jon wanted him to play along; so he would. At least there wasn’t any of that God-awful shrieking at the moment.

“Let me introduce my daughters to you Robert. Here is my eldest, Sansa, who is the beauty of the family …” Lady Catelyn smiled proudly as she presented Sansa to Gendry, “…and then there’s Arya.” She added, rather as if her youngest was an after thought.

Arya rolled her eyes and bad-temperedly blew out a long, loud sigh.

“Curtsy to Lord Baratheon girls!” 

Sansa, immediately dipped into a polite curtsey, while stifling a giggle, but Arya yelped “What?!”

“Do..not..embarrass..me..in..front..of..our..guest!” Lady Catelyn ground out in a harsh whisper.

Arya stood defiantly straight and glared angrily at Gendry, willing him to intervene and save her. But he had other ideas,

“I see you’ve got a stubborn one there Catelyn. I think she could do with a spank to teach her a lesson” he drawled, crossing his arms across his chest and smirking down at Arya.

Jon nearly choked trying to suppress a guffaw of laughter. Arya stamped her foot in frustration.

“Arya!” her mother shrieked, “curtsy to Lord Baratheon like your sister did.”

“I won’t.” Arya spat angrily, giving Gendry a deathly stare.

“Do you want me to spank her for you Catelyn? I would be quite happy to put her across my knee right here and now.” Gendry offered calmly, as if he was offering to pour the wine.

“Arya! Curtsy or he might feel obliged to make you!”

“I will and you know it.” Gendry said, voice low and dripping with dangerous intent.

With a snarl Arya, dipped her head and gave the most determinedly awful imitation of a curtsy. 

With that formality over with, Sansa quickly pulled the largest ornately carved chair out for her mother, “Here mother, you sit at the top of the table.” 

“I will not sit there! Robert’s place is at the top of the table! Please Robert…” She gestured for Gendry to sit down, he accepted graciously, unable to keep the grin off his face and almost laughing out loud as he watched Arya silently fuming.

Lady Catelyn sat to his right, then Sansa, with Jon beside her. Arya sat on his left. Gendry noticed almost immediately that Jon did his best to keep out of Lady Catelyn’s line of sight and did not enter into any conversation with her. However, Gendry also noticed that Jon smiled whenever Sansa did and his eyes never strayed far from her. 

To everyone’s relief, the meal passed without much drama. Sansa and Arya steered the conversation away from anything likely to provoke their mother and the worst she did was frequently repeat herself, which they all studiously ignored. Lady Catelyn hung on Gendry’s every word, laughed at all his jokes and Gendry almost thought the old bat was flirting with him.

When the cheese and biscuits were finished, Sansa got up to clear the table. Gendry immediately stood up and offered to help. Lady Catelyn shrieked with horror and sneered, “The bastard will tidy up after us.”

Jon pointedly ignored her as he stood up and walked over to a distraught looking Sansa. Arya and Gendry exchanged worried glances, neither knowing what to do for the best, until Jon growled at Gendry to sit down. Gendry did as he was told, earning himself a distasteful look from her ladyship. 

Arya took her mother’s hand and quickly starting babbling, telling Gendry that her mother liked to watch the soaps after dinner, adding “it’s about the only peace Sansa gets” under her breath as she took her mother off to the drawing room. 

Gendry didn’t want to follow, thinking the evening had gone passably well and he didn’t want to risk jeopardising it by spending any more time than he absolutely had to with mad Lady Catelyn, so he decided to wander into the kitchen and offer his help Sansa and Jon. 

As he pushed the door open, he caught the two of them jumping apart, both turning their backs to him and walking in opposite directions. It was so obviously he had interrupted something that he almost turned on his heel and walked out again, but that would have been an admission that he’d seen them. So he decided the best course of action was to brazen it out and pretend he’d seen nothing. 

However, it only took one look at Sansa to know that something was definitely going on. Her hair was down, tumbling around her shoulders, her face was flushed and happy and her eyes shone. This Sansa was an entirely different girl to the tired, buttoned up, old woman he’d met in the chemist. Jon looked ten years younger too. It wasn’t just the jeans and the slippers, his face lit up every time Sansa talked or smiled or even moved. It was so fucking obvious they had something going on. They were behaving like a couple of loved-up teenagers, sneaking around, thinking they were fooling everyone, when they were actually fooling no-one. Well, they weren’t fooling Gendry anyway. So he helped them put the last of the dinner things away and joined in the charade, pretending nothing was going on too.

They were almost done, when Arya burst in, looking very pleased with herself,

“Right, I’ve lined up four episodes of Coronation Street on catch- up-TV for mum, so we’ve got two hours peace!”

“But, she’s already seen every episode this week,” Sansa sighed.

“Hardly matters, does it? Her Ladyship wouldn’t remember if she was watching the same thing she saw half an hour ago would she?” Jon muttered dryly.

Sansa didn’t look too happy with his assessment of the situation, but didn’t argue.

Arya was not to be dissuaded from her plan, “I switched the sauna on earlier when I was in the gym. It’ll be hot by now. Let’s have a sauna and run through the snow to the hot springs like we used to. I fancy a roll around in the snow.” She looked pointedly at Gendry.

“Sounds great!” Gendry said enthusiastically. A roll around anywhere with Arya was alright with him. 

“Sure, why not.” Jon agreed with a shrug.

“I don’t know.” Sansa said hesitantly, “we won’t hear mum.”

“She’ll be fine.” Arya chided.

“Come on Sansa, it’ll do you good to kick back a bit.” Jon coaxed.

“I suppose so.” Sansa agreed reluctantly, looking at Jon and biting her lip, obviously not completely at ease with leaving her mother for two hours, but Jon and Arya were determined. Jon extracted the dish towel from Sansa’s hand and Arya pulled her sister by the arm towards the kitchen door.

Jon and Gendry walked behind the girls, through another part of the castle Gendry hadn’t seen before. As things caught his eyes, he asked Jon about them. But it was patently clear that Jon would rather be watching Sansa’s bum as she walked ahead of them, than pay attention to Gendry’s questions. Jon’s eyes kept darting back to Sansa’s bottom while he was talking to Gendry. It was obvious The Lord Commander was head over hells in lust with Sansa, but did she feel the same way? If she did, Gendry wondered why the hell they felt the need to sneak around like this in their own home.

The gym was impressively kitted out but with only one, communal changing room. Neither of them smelled like any gym or changing room Gendry had ever been in before. They smelled of talcum powder and fluffy white towels to him, rather than the sweat and stale disinfectant he was used to. He decided immediately this was another thing to like about Winterfell. He had his T shirt pulled over his head, before he realised the other three weren’t getting undressed.

“Shall we let the boys get changed first Arya?” Sansa asked hesitantly.

“You’re just saying that so you two can enjoy looking at our arses!” Shit! The words were out before Gendry realised he was making a joke about Sansa liking Jon’s bare arse. He wasn’t supposed to know that.

Sansa flushed scarlet but didn’t deny it. 

Jon hadn’t seemed to notice Gendry’s insightful comment. He was busy fishing around in a cabinet and pulled out one, rather skimpy, piece of men’s swimwear.

“It will be a bare arse for one of us. There’s only one of these.” 

“I don’t mind.” Gendry said, trying to make up for his earlier faux pas, “that doesn’t look like it would fit me anyway.”

“I can vouch for that.” Arya smirked wickedly, running her tongue over her bottom lip as she ran her eyes from Gendry’s crotch, over his bare torso and back to his crotch. God, if she kept looking at him like that, he’d be embarrassing himself with more than a few ill considered words.

Ignoring her, Jon said, “That’s hardly fair. Gendry’s the guest. Girls with, boys without. How about that?”

“I don’t think that’s fair either, I’m up for it, if he is,” Arya declared, pulling her own T shirt over her head. Gendry thought the black lacy bra now revealed might be the same one he’d caught a glimpse of on the oilrig. That memory sent blood thundering straight to his cock.

“Sansa?” Jon asked softly. Her eyes were downcast and she was still flushed.

“I suppose so, if everyone else is.”

“Great!” Arya cheered, sending her bra flying through the air to land at Gendry’s feet. He tried to think of an avalanche of cold snow landing on his cock, anything to get rid of that image of Arya unzipping that orange boiler suit and sliding his gun into her bra. Fuck – he’d just thought about it again. 

Arya was almost naked and Gendry hurried to catch up. She shrieked “Snow first!” and ran for the door. What the hell. He slid his boxers down, hoping the other two weren’t paying any attention to his impatient cock and ran after her.

Jon and Sansa were left alone in the changing room, both still fully clothed. Jon went to her and tucked an unruly lock of auburn hair behind her ear, “you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Sansa looked up at him with a shy smile, “I want to Jon. I want to have fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, there’s hope for Sansa and Jon yet. 
> 
> I start work in 10 hours, so I don’t think I’ll get another chapter done until the weekend, but it will be finished then. No 'Reluctant Bride' chapter tomorrow though because of this. I’d better get my flame proof clothing ready…


	8. Chapter 8

Gendry plunged into the steaming pool, grateful for the all enveloping warmth. It had almost stopped snowing but a few flakes still fluttered down, melting as soon as they touched his bare skin. Only once he was warm again, with the water up to his chin, did he take a look around.

He had been sent all over the world. He’d seen some hell holes and his share of beautiful places too, but nothing compared to this. Magical was the only word he could think of to describe what he saw around him. Winterfell looked like a fairytale castle, the turrets and crenulations dusted with icing sugar. The pine trees around him were picture postcard perfect, thick with snow and pointing towards a clear, star filled sky. Everything was bathed in clear, pale moonlight and best of all, very best off all, there was Arya Stark walking towards him through the steam, warm and wet, with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

As she came closer, her shoulders rose from the water, silver rivulets running from her neck, collecting in the perfect hollow of her collar bones and still she rose, revealing the soft curve of the top her breasts then fat nipples, stiffening and growing in front of his eyes as they were exposed to the cold air. She snaked her hands around his neck, letting her arms taking her weight, wrapping her legs around his waist. He reached for her under the water, his hands finding the smooth, rounded globes of her arse. Life did not get any Goddamn better than this.

“What do you think?” she purred, rubbing her breasts against his chest, making the water slosh between them.

Jesus, she expected him to think at a time like this?

“Well?” she murmured, rolling her hips, letting his cock graze against her bottom, almost finding its way home, but not quite yet.

“I think Jon will kill me if he finds me shagging his sister in the swimming pool.” But he didn’t push her away.

Gendry felt a shiver run through her as she kissed him tenderly, lips closed at first, then opening, allowing her tongue to explore, slowly seeking his. If he could take her first, like this, it might even be worth risking Jon’s wrath. 

He walked her backwards to the side of the pool. ‘Swimming pool’ didn’t begin to do it justice. It was roughly oval in shape, the rock scoured smooth by eons of bubbling water from the hot springs below Winterfell – granite he thought as the crystals of quartz sparkled in the moonlight. 

Once he had her back against the rock, it would be easy to slide his cock into her, right up to the hilt and rock her on him under the water, but Jon and Sansa would surely be here soon and he didn’t want the bright future he was beginning to imagine for him and Arya, shattered because he couldn’t keep his cock to himself for half an hour. He reluctantly sat her down on the ledge carved into the rock and pulled away.

She groaned as her legs lost their purchase on his hips. “I could be really, really quick.”

“And I could be really, really dead.”

With another groan she sank under the water and he watched her beautiful, naked body glide past him, pale as marble in the moonlight. He deserved a medal for his self control.

By the time she surfaced at the other side of the pool, he had resumed his contemplation of their surroundings. He could not understand why any of the Starks would ever want to leave this to go off and fight in some foreign land. Why would Arya want to go to West Africa to sweat on an oilrig when she could stay here? He shook his head. Wondering why only made him aware that this would all end soon. He’d be back at Her Majesty’s service and Arya would be off chasing black gold in God-knows-where. But he didn’t have to think about that yet. He still had time and he still her for a while longer at least. Gendry intended to make the most of it. 

He dived under the water and, like a heat seeking missile, headed straight for the dark triangle of hair, swaying in the water,. She shrieked as he grabbed her hips and planted a hard kiss between her legs. Then he pulled her under and they rolled, struggling and play fighting until they had to surface, gasping for air.

There was still no sign of Jon and Sansa. 

Arya said it first, “What do you think they’re doing in there?”

Gendry kicked up from the bottom and floated on his back for a moment. His cock didn’t appreciate being out of the warm water, “I’ve got a good idea what they’re up to, “ he sighed as he dunked himself under the water, letting it rise up to his chin again.

Arya looked genuinely puzzled.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “She buys a bunch of condoms just before Jon shows up, he can’t take his eyes off her and they both take half an hour to get their kit off.”

Arya screwed her nose up at him, “You’ve got a dirty mind. Just because you think about sex all the time doesn’t mean everyone else does.”

“Ok, what if it’s not just sex? What if they’re really, you know…” he paused, before nearly choking on the words, “…in love?”

Arya tuck her tongue out and pretended to be sick. It felt as if a hand had gripped his heart and given it a hard squeeze. That was the exactly the sort of mocking reaction from her that he hadn’t wanted to see.

“No bloody way,” she scoffed.

He set his jaw and exhaled slowly. “Just watch them when they finally appear. Pay attention and you’ll see for yourself.” He dived under the water again, not wanting to discuss this with her any further.

-o-

Jon watched her auburn hair run through his fingers. He would never tire of just playing with her hair. He let his fingers brush against the side of her jaw, smiling as she closed her eyes and tilted her head towards his hand. 

“So you want to have fun,” he murmured softly.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

He undid the pearly little buttons on her blouse, taking his time, wanting to make this special for her. For them both. When he the last button unfastened, he ran a finger slowly from her chin, down her throat, between her breasts and over her stomach, hooking it in the waistband of her skirt.

“Turn around,” he whispered, his voice heavy with desire.

She did as he asked. He gently took hold of the shoulders of her blouse and slid them down her arms, exposing smooth, milky white skin, before letting the blouse drop on the floor. He brushed her hair to one side, exposing the nape of her neck and kissing it softly, trailing kisses with aching slowness along her shoulder as she sighed and leant back against him. He unfastened and discarded her plain cotton bra, reaching around and cupping the firm globes of her breasts in his hands. He kneaded them gently, keeping up the slow kisses along her shoulder, feeling her relax and melt into his touch. 

She gave a sharp little cry of surprise as he bit her shoulder. Not hard, but just enough to make his presence felt. 

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he murmured as he pressed his hips against her bottom, letting her feel how much he wanted her. 

“Yes,” she sighed, “but you know I don’t believe you.”

He growled from deep in his throat. She had no idea how beautiful she was. He wanted to dress her in silk and display her on his arm before the whole world. He would point out the envious gazes to her that he received from every other man; safe in the knowledge that she was his and his alone. Perhaps then she would believe him. 

He made short work of her skirt and her tights, but took more time with her cotton panties, sliding his fingers around and down the front, stroking her damp auburn curls, probing deeper, feeling how wet she was for him.

“Your turn” she gasped as he finally had her panties off and had her gloriously naked in front of him.

She copied what he had just done to her, unfastening the buttons of his shirt, running her fingers through the black curly hair across his chest. She hesitated, before dipping her head and giving one of his hard little nipples a soft bite. That was new. He chuckled and lifted her face to his, loving that she was relaxed enough to try to please him, to have fun. 

He pressed his lips gently against hers, wrapping her silky hair around his fingers, feeling her sigh and open her mouth for him. As their tongues gently explored each other, she melted against him, moulding her body to his, matching his desire for her with her own for him.

He unbuckled his belt, but let her work each button slowly apart. He groaned every time her hesitant fingers brushed against his cock, straining against the cotton of his trunks, throbbing with need.

“You know, we’ve never done it anywhere except in my bed.” She whispered as she slowly eased the waistband of his trunks over his swollen shaft. 

Jon hoped she intended for them to ‘do it’ here and very, very soon.

He stepped out of his jeans and held her tight against him, skin on skin. A spasm of anticipation shoot through him as his cock pressed against the smooth warmth of her stomach. He heard her heart thud against his. He could never loose her. Never.

She took the lead, surprising him as she led him over to one of the benches against the wall, rested her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down. “I want you now,” she said breathlessly.

He gazed up at her. He loved her when she was foolishly determined and he couldn’t agree with her reasons, he loved her when she was hurting and vulnerable, but he couldn’t resist her like this, confident, demanding, intent on taking her pleasure now, with him.

She put one knee on the bench beside him, then he had to make her wait as he retrieved a condom from the wallet in his jeans. But she was in no mood for waiting, pushing her heavy breasts up and together, rubbing them against him as he dealt with the condom. Then her other knee was on the bench, straddling him, easing herself down, her hair surrounding them both like a curtain of golden fire.

“Do you like this?” She whispered, her voice thick with desire.

“Oh yes, Sansa, I like it very much.” He dropped his hands to her bottom, cupping it as he helped her slide up until he was almost out and then slowly back down.

She rode him with excruciating slowness. He fought against the urge to thrust up into her. He held himself back, letting her set the pace, listening to her little cries of pleasure, savouring the unbearable strength of his love and lust for her. There was just him and her and for the moment that was all that mattered. She moaned his name as he whispered hers, then he wasn’t sure which of them said “I love you” first as they came together in a storm of gasps and whispered declarations of love.

They were still joined together, kissing softly when the changing room door flew open. Lady Catelyn Stark stood there, silhouetted against the bright lights, remote control still in her hand and a look of maniacal rage on her face.

Sansa struggled to get off of Jon as Lady Catelyn launched herself at the two of them screaming obscenities as she grabbing at Sansa’s hair and slashed at Jon with the remote, 

“You bastard! You whore! Nedddddddddddddddddd!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until tomorrow…which will be the last…


	9. Chapter 9

Jon was surprised by Lady Catelyn’s strength as she struggled against him. 

He had no intention of hurting her, despite the throbbing on his temple as a result of the wallop from her remote control - a lucky strike while he was still disentangling himself from Sansa. As soon as he was out from under Sansa, he had Lady Catelyn restrained and on the floor. He still held her there, but not with enough pressure to hurt her. However, that did nothing to silence her vicious mouth. The diatribe of abuse continued, “whore, bastard, whore.” 

Jon couldn’t have cared less what Catelyn Stark said or thought of him, but he had to stop this for Sansa’s sake. He had tried to order Sansa out of the room, but she seemed to be rooted to the spot. Jon wasn’t even sure if Sansa had heard anything he had said to her. She stood there, glorious naked, her hair dishevelled, sobbing and wringing her hands together.

“Sansa. Please get dressed and get Gendry.” He repeated calmly and authoritatively. Unfortunately, although Sansa was not listening to him, her mother was,

“Get out whore! Get out of my sight! You should have married Joffrey like your father wanted and instead you’re fucking that bastard! It’s your fault your father is dead. It’s all your fault. Whore!”

Jon had to shut her up. He placed a knee on Catelyn’s bony back, freeing up one of his hands. There was more chance he would injure her like this, or more likely that she would injury herself as she struggled against him, but he needed one hand to clamp her evil mouth shut. 

“Don’t listen to her Sansa. Get dressed and get Gendry.”

“I couldn’t marry him! He beat me mother, he beat me!” Sansa wailed.

Jon had never heard any of this before, where had he been? But this wasn’t the time or the place to discuss it. He could hear Catelyn’s muffled cries of “Whore!” even under his hand.

“Sansa listen to me…”

He was interrupted by Gendry running into the room. He had never been so glad to see a naked man in his life.

“Find something to gag her with.” Jon hadn’t intended it to, but it came out as a barked order.

Gendry was immediately crouched down beside him and, between the two of them; they had Lady Catelyn securely gagged in moments. She only managed to yell part of her new favourite word at Sansa, but it was still enough for Gendry to get the gist of what had happened, that and the fact that Jon still had an obviously used condom attached to him. Gendry took over from Jon, holding Lady Catelyn down as Jon surreptitiously attended to himself.

Arya was trying to comfort Sansa, but she was inconsolable, at least she seemed to be until Jon wrapped her in a robe and held her. He was able to stem her sobs with gentle kisses and whispered words as he had done so often before.

Gendry caught Arya’s eye. The look that he gave her wordlessly communicated “I told you so.” 

Arya put on a robe too and crouched down beside her mother, intending to try and calm her, but the sight of the Gendry and Arya running in, naked and obviously together, had only enraged Lady Catelyn more. Her eyes rolled wildly as she struggled to scream new obscenities at Arya. The gag only muffled her words, her feelings still patently obvious. Arya sat stock still at first, just staring at her mother, but when she hugged herself and started rocking gently, Gendry knew he had to make something happen.

“Jon, we need to get a doctor and get the girls out of here.” 

Jon gave himself a shake, pulling away from Sansa and taking control of the situation again. Arya and Sansa were sent to phone Dr Luwin. Once Jon and Gendry had the girls out of earshot they were better able to deal with Catelyn.

Gendry got Lady Catelyn to her feet with as little force as he could and attempted to sit her on a bench. But she held her body rigid, refusing to sit, still trying to scream and curse them both. Jon let Gendry deal with her, while he sat down on the nearest bench, ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. He looked squarely at the woman who he had once thought to be his step mother.

“Listen to me Catelyn.” Gendry pulled her upright and pointed her toward Jon, so that she had no alternative but to listen to him.

“We can do this one of two ways. You can calm down, come with us quietly and have a cup of tea while we wait for Dr Luwin or if you keep struggling, Lord Baratheon will keep hold of you until Dr Luwin gets here. The choice is yours.”

She nodded and stopped struggling.

“Remove the gag.” Gendry pulled it out, as gently as he could. As soon as she had the opportunity, she shrieked “I wish you were dead you Bast…” Gendry got the gag back on before she could finish.

Jon sighed. “Well, it looks like we’ll have a long wait.”

Dr Luwin sedated Lady Catelyn and then, at her own request, gave Sansa something to calm her nerves. He explained to them all that, now Lady Catelyn had attacked Jon and Sansa, as her Doctor, he had to act for Catelyn’s own safety. She would be sectioned and assessed and then they could then find somewhere appropriate for her to live. He made it clear that somewhere would not be Winterfell. Sansa’s half hearted pleas to be allowed to keep her mother at home, were politely dismissed.

Once Lady Catelyn was taken away in an ambulance and everyone was sat around the kitchen table drinking tea, Dr Luwin began dispensing his sagely advice.

“Sansa, you need help to run this place and don’t bother telling me you’re coping. Coping is not enough dear.” He turned to Jon and Arya, “Did she tell you two more members of staff resigned last month?”

Sansa looked wearily embarrassed, but Jon squeezed her hand reassuringly, their affection for each other no longer hidden. “We’ve haven’t had a chance to discuss business yet Doctor.”

“I hope that, since Lady Catelyn is…no longer here, some staff may well feel able to return. As your mother will not be back Sansa, I suggest you find something else to occupy your time, for it will be a big change.”

“Yes Doctor. Do you mind if I go up to bed? I am really getting very sleepy.”

“Of course you must go. Sleep is a great healer and you must remember – none of this is your fault. None of it.”

Sansa smiled sadly, but did not answer.

“I’ll come with you” Arya said, rising with her sister.

Jon walked them to the door. He gave Sansa a chaste kiss and a whispered promise to come to her soon, before returning to the table, to the Doctor and Gendry.

“Jon, you’ll need to keep an eye on Sansa. She blames herself, when we all know there was nothing anyone could have done and Sansa certainly could not have done any more.” The all nodded their heads in agreement. “But it’s not right, a young woman being all alone up here.”

“A beautiful young woman” Gendry decided to add, hoping Jon would take the unsubtle hint.

“Yes quite.” The Doctor agreed, giving Gendry a sideways glance.

“Can we ask you a question Doctor?” Jon looked from Gendry to the Doctor and back.

“Of course.” Dr Luwin agreed.

“In her rantings, Catelyn kept referring to Gendry here as Robert or Lord Baratheon and spoke as if he were a friend of Ned’s. It was said consistently and I do believe she thought Gendry was someone from her past. We wondered if you might know who this Lord Robert Baratheon was?”

Dr Luwin took off his glasses and gave Gendry a long, hard look, “Now you come to mention it, he does look remarkably like one of Eddard’s friends. I only met the man a few times, but I recall they seemed to have been boyhood chums, who enlisted together I think. Perhaps The Regimental records might reveal something? Why don’t you have a look at some of Eddard’s old photo albums too? Do you not know anything about that name Gendry? Perhaps your father knew this Lord Baratheon too?”

“I wish I could ask him Doctor, but I don’t know who my father was, there’s not even a name on my birth certificate” It pained Gendry to have to admit this, but Jon could easily find out if he wanted to access his service records and the Doctor seemed to genuinely want to help.

“Were, there’s a mystery to be solved.” The Doctor mused, putting his glasses back on. “Come to think on it, I recall that Baratheon chap was sweet on your mother Jon. Might be there’s a right old story there. Let me know if you find anything out will you?”

“Will do.” Jon clasped the Doctor’s shoulder in thanks. 

Gendry thought miserably that he probably wouldn’t be able to do much about it. It was alright talking about searching The Regiment’s records and the Stark family photo albums, but Gendry would be back overseas in another couple of weeks and that would be the end of that. 

The Doctor stood up to go. The other two men shook his hand. Jon pulled The Doctor to the side for a final word at the back door. Gendry took the hint and left them alone.

“You have been a loyal friend as well as a Doctor to this family for years” Jon spoke quietly and deliberately. There was obviously something else preying on his mind.

The old man smiled. “Yes, I saw the rest of them into the world and I was the first one to see you when you arrived, albeit in a different way than the others.”

“I would like to ask your advice on something…” Jon hesitated, searching for the right way to put this, for there certainly was no easy way to say it, “…although Sansa is my cousin, we were never close as children, her mother saw to that. But now I…I…”

Dr Luwin held up his hand, stopping Jon’s hesitant confession, “The whole of Winterfell village knows that Sansa stockpiles condoms before your arrival and that you share a room when you are here.”

Jon’s jaw dropped open. 

“Oh come on, Jon, you think kissing cousins up at The Castle would go un-noticed around these parts. I heard years ago, from Mrs Mordane at the chemist’s shop, that the…ah…nature of your relationship changed when Rickon left to enlist.”

Jon was utterly speechless. All this time, all these years of hiding and everyone had known all along. It seemed as if the Doctor really did mean everyone.

“Now her ladyship is out of the way, I think everyone is looking forward to a fresh start at The Castle and I daresay a wedding in the spring. Perhaps even two, from the look of Arya and that Baratheon chap.”

“Waters, his name is Gendry Waters.” Jon corrected the Doctor.

“Of course it is. Silly me.” Dr Luwin picked up his bag. “Now remember what I said about Sansa. She needs all the support she can get right now. She needs something to occupy her now her mother’s not here, otherwise I fear she will feel that she is no longer useful and that will lead to unhappiness for you all.”

“Yes, Doctor Luwin, I have been thinking along similar lines myself.”

“A new baby is always good in a family. Takes everyone’s mind of their troubles.”

“A baby?” Jon echoed slowly, unsteadily, warily. “Would that be alright…with us being cousins.”

“Oh, I think young, healthy folk like you and Sansa should be fine and it’s not as if there is any madness on the Stark side of the family.” The Doctor opened the back door. “I’ll be in touch and you know where I am if you have any other questions.” Then he was off out into the moonlit snow.

Jon watched him leave; feeling as if the axis of the world had just shifted under his feet. 

Any other questions? Jon suspected that Dr Luwin knew a great deal more than he had let on this night, but there would be time for more questions later. It had been a hell of a day and it wasn’t over yet. He needed to see Sansa and ask her a few questions of his own. He took the stairs three at a time.

 

Christmas Eve. Three days later.

 

“It’s nearly midnight. Do you want your Christmas present now?”

Gendry and Arya were alone in the drawing room. Jon and Sansa had gone to bed hours before, but Gendry and Arya had stayed up, talking and really getting to know each other as the snow fell outside, a real log fire burned in the fireplace and the lights of the Christmas tree twinkled in the corner. 

“Did you really get me one?” Arya asked with a groan.

“Of course.”

“Oh…” there was a long pause, “So that’s why you went down to the village today. But I haven’t got you anything.”

He smiled and hugged her tighter, “Don’t worry, I didn’t expect you to. You didn’t even know I was coming.”

She raised her eyebrows and grinned. “I always know you’re your coming now though.”

He laughed and kissed her briefly before getting up and pulling her towards the door.

“Is this Christmas present what I think it is?” she asked as he tugged her hand.

“I dunno, depends on what you think it is.”

“Hot sex?”

“No, it’s not that! But you can have that too, if you want.” He waggled his eyebrows at her as they walked up the stairs side by side.

“Hmm. I dunno, I’ll need to think about that…” she said, stopping, crossing her arms and trying to keep her face straight.

He stepped down a few steps behind her and pinched her arse. She yelped. He did again.

“Up those stairs now.”

With another yelp, she started running. “My room!” he yelled after her, allowing her a head start before he gave chase.

She was already sprawled on the four poster bed when he got to the room. For once he didn’t pounce on her. Instead he went to his battered rucksack, unzipped it, slipped something in his back pocket and took out a bundled up T shirt.

“I’m sorry it’s not properly wrapped, but I think you’ll like it anyway.” 

She looked at it. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” he grinned.  
She did and squealed “Oh Gendry!” as she unwrapped Needle. “I thought I’d never see it again,” she said excitedly as she started swinging the long blade through the air.  
“You had it all this time and you never told me?”

He shrugged, “I picked it up on the rig, but I knew as long as I had it, I had an excuse to see you again.” He muttered, embarrassed by having to admit it.

“Oh thank you!” She kneeled up on the bed and flung her arms around his neck. He, warily, tried to keep his eye on the knife. “Can you…err...put that down first. You’re making me nervous.”

She laughed and placed it on the bedside table.

“That was such a good present, I feel even worse for not getting you anything.” 

“Well, I’ve got something else that you could give to me,” he rubbed his hands down her back quickly, nervously. So much was riding on this.

“Hmm?” she licked her lips, intrigued, wondering if he was meaning sexy lingerie.

He pulled an oblong, cellophane wrapped box from the back pocket of his jeans.

“A pregnancy testing kit?” she gulped, staring at it, not wanting to touch it.

“Yes. I walked down to the chemist and bought it today. I need to know Arya. Goddamn it, we need to know.” He put it back in his pocket, put his hands on her bottom and lifted her up. She automatically wrapped her legs around his waist as he walked her backwards towards the bathroom. 

When they got there, he put her down and unwrapped the cellophane while she stood and watched. When he was done, he handed the stick to her.

“What do I do with it?”

“Pee on it I suppose. Wait and I’ll read the instructions.” 

But now she didn’t want to wait. So she sat on the toilet and concentrated. God, she was too nervous to pee.

He was standing, watching her intently, instructions now hanging, forgotten from his fingers. That didn’t help at all.

“Don’t look.”

He laughed. “That line didn’t work the first time Arya and it’s not going to work now.”

“Oh yeah….I forgot... Perv.”

They both laughed. 

He crouched down in front of her and kissed her. “You had me when you unzipped that boiler suit and slid my gun in your bra.”

“I know.” She smiled and kissed him back. “And you had me from the moment I saw those blue eyes of yours…although I admit I like the rest of the package too. A lot.”

They hugged while she sat on the toilet. Eventually he said, “Right, are we going to do this?”

“We?”

“Just pee on the damn stick Arya.”

She did and handed it back to him without looking at it. She finished and flushed and washed her hands, all with her back to him. Shit. She wanted to know and she didn’t. This could change everything. Or nothing.

She turned around slowly. His face was calm, unreadable.

“Well?”

“Looks like Santa got us what we wanted!” He whooped. Her mouth dropped open.

“You’re kidding me. Let me see it!” She grabbed the stick. But he was right. Everything had changed. In an instant. Just like that.

He gently took the stick from her limp fingers. “Are you not happy?”

She didn’t know what she was. Shocked probably. She didn’t react when he took her in his arms. Or even when he cradled her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, just as he had that first night in the hotel.

“I know it’ll take a while to get our heads around this, but it’ll be alright. We’ll be alright.” He whispered against her hair.

She was still for a minute before struggling to free herself from his arms, “It won’t be alright when you fuck off and die on me!” she sobbed and ran from the bathroom, leaving him standing there, looking at the proof that he was going to be a father.

-o-

Arya was in the kitchen with Jon and Sansa. He’d gone in. They’d all looked up at him, as one, all Starks together, united and he was alone. Arya and Sansa were obviously both crying. Jon stood up and asked him, politely, but firmly to “Please wait in the drawing room and give us some time.”

Gendry wasn’t going to stand there and argue, when he had been dismissed like some insignificant child, but he’d say what he needed to before he went. He fixed his eyes on Arya, clenched his fists and said, “You never gave me a chance to say what I wanted to Arya. I never knew my father and I’m going to make damn sure I’m around for my child.” She sniffed and turned away from him. Sansa shook her head at him and wrapped a projective arm around her sister’s shoulder.

Jon repeated, “Can we have some time please?”

Gendry didn’t have any option but to turn around and walk out. What the fuck did he do now? Hang around outside the kitchen door like some eavesdropper? Leave altogether, let Arya come after him? He took the easiest course of action and stomped off to wait in the drawing room, liked Jon had asked.

Half an hour later Jon came in, poured a couple of drinks, handed one to Gendry and then stood silently, swirling his whisky around his own glass. Gendry had been left alone by the Starks, during which time his resentment had gone from simmering to boiling. Bloody Starks. This was his baby and yet he had to sit and wait here for Jon to come and tell him how it was going to be. He wouldn’t need much of an excuse to smack The Gaffer right now.

So he was taken off guard when Jon raised his glass, clinked it against Gendry’s and, with a broad smile roared, “Congratulations!” 

“So...so is she pleased? Is everything going to be ok?”

Jon dropped down in to one of the chairs opposite Gendry. “Well, I think she might have been a bit happier if you’d asked her to marry you…”

“Of course! I intended to, but she ran off before I had the chance.” Now he said it, he realised himself that it sounded rather lame. He could have asked her in the kitchen, but he didn’t want to do it in front of other people, in case she said no.

“Good. I suggest you do it sooner rather than later. Now, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Oh God. He didn’t like the sound of this.

“I’m resigning from The Regiment.” Gendry was taken aback. No-one resigned from the SAS. It was an honour to be invited to join. You served your time until you had to leave. But still, Jon looked rather happy about it.

“Sansa needs me here and…” The Gaffer paused and shrugged, “…I want to be here. With her.”

“I see.” Gendry muttered. Pleased for them both, but not really seeing what that had to do with him.

“Arya won’t be going back to the rigs. I doubt they’d let her even if she wanted to now she’s pregnant.”

“Did she not want to?” He couldn’t hide his surprise. He knew she loved her job.

As if reading his thoughts, Jon said, “yes, she loved her job, but she tells me she loves you more.”

Arya had said that? That she loved him? She’d never told him.

“…so we discussed some things in the kitchen there and we have a proposal for you.”

“We?” he echoed.

“Arya, Sansa and myself.”

Gendry steeled himself for whatever was coming next. 

“Look around you Gendry. Look at the size of this place, the grounds, the farms. You’ve only seen a fraction of it. This house should be full of kids, ringing with life and laughter, not rotting away while one person struggles to hold it together.” 

Gendry nodded, Jon was looking at the whisky in his glass again. 

“So I’ve asked Sansa to marry me. Fortunately she said yes and together we intend to return this place to its former glory and, God willing, fill it with kids.”

“Congratulations!” 

“Thank you. And we need help. Arya wants to stay here and we all wonder if you would like to stay too?”

He was speechless.

“I know you’re a career soldier and the thought of being tied down here probably doesn’t appeal much, but Arya doesn’t want you putting your life on the line any more and I’m sure we can all understand why.” He gave Gendry a rueful smile. “Apart from that, the truth is, we need help, I need the help and Arya was right – I did say you were the best man I had.”

Thinking Gendry’s hesitation was due to his not wanting to accept, Jon continued, “of course there will be a very generous allowance and you can take your pick of the myriad jobs that need done here. I’m hoping we’ll all muck in together. I know it will seem mundane compared to what we’re both used to, at least to begin with, but I’m ready for a new challenge and I hope you are too.”

Gendry’s mouth might have been moving, but nothing was coming out.

“Look, you can take your time to think about it. Go and speak to Arya. The two of you need to make your decisions together and for God’s sake ask her to marry you.”

Gendry nodded.

“She’s outside, taking a walk around the pool, waiting on you.”

Gendry got up, as if he was in a trance and walked towards the kitchen. He picked up his jacket on the way out, not really listening as Sansa wished him good luck and only managing to mutter a short “congratulations” to her on his way. 

He stopped as he closed the kitchen door behind him and took a look around; at the stars, the fairytale castle, the snow, the trees, everything sparkling in the moonlight. He was really going to be able to stay here with Arya. They would get married and raise their children here – surrounded by all this and cousins too.

She was waiting for him by the pool, watching. 

When she saw him look over, she gave a cautious wave. He grinned and waved back. He had come home for Christmas and had no intention of ever leaving.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing that although it turned out to be much longer than I originally intended! Hope you enjoyed reading it too. Now the last of the Christmas pudding has been scoffed, the Christmas tree is down and I don’t want to see another turkey ever again. So I guess it’s time to get back to The Reluctant Bride and that Lord’s kiss…


End file.
